


When Shit Hits the Fan

by NobodyOfficial



Category: Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Adoption Propoganda, Fluff, Foster Kid AU, Found Family, Gen, Human AU, Swearing, Teen AU, beej is a kiddo, kind of, like oh so much swearing, the only kind you shouldn't be immune to
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-09-06 23:23:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 25,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20299648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobodyOfficial/pseuds/NobodyOfficial
Summary: STILL NOT ABANDONED!!! JUST BUSY!!! WILL DEFINITELY FINISH ONE DAY!!!In a feeble attempt to do what's best for his daughter, who's still mourning the loss of her mother, Charles and Delia make the decision to foster a child. When they meet Laurence, the sweetest, most happy-go-lucky kid around, they think he'd be the perfect person to bring Lydia out of her shell. Ignoring warnings from his case workers, the Maitlands, the Deetzes bring their new foster son home, only for him to immediately start wreaking havoc.They'd send him straight back, only Lydia seems to love the chaos.-What are titles, but mere phrases selected in a moment of panic? Anyway, chapters are super short and, although in chronological order, they aren't a whole-ass narrative, just the pieces of the story I felt like writing. However that means this should be both an easy read and quick to update! Warning: there's depression, there's mentioned abuse, and it's just so freaking dialogue heavy, I put bare-minimum effort into the prose here.





	1. Laurence meets the Maitlands (well, they meet him)

“He doesn’t look like a monster.”

“He’s sleeping, Barb.”

“I know, but-“ Barbara reached out to brush the unconscious boy’s hair from his face, “He looks like such a little angel.”

Adam rose to stand behind his wife’s chair, squeezing her shoulder as he did, and looked down at the boy. His face and arms were streaked with charcoal, his hair singed and uneven, his nose and mouth obscured by an oxygen mask. In the most innocent definition of the word, he did look like a monster.

Adam had read his file: he was a whole five foot nothing of pure chaotic energy who had had four sets of case workers in the past eight years. Each time they handed him over they said the same thing: he’s a little monster. Though it seemed cruel to Adam this was an understandable label, considering his track record.

Age six: broke a window, threatened foster mother with shard of glass.

Age nine: threatened to beat PE teacher to death. Almost followed through.

Age eleven: played drums for seventy two hours straight.

Age thirteen: burned house down with entire family inside.

“They didn’t even go back inside to get him.” Barbara was still playing with the boy’s hair. He squirmed restlessly beneath the thin hospital blanket. “They got their other kids out and they just left in there to die, Adam.”

The misty look in Barbara’s eyes was unmistakable, but Adam knew he couldn’t chastise her for it; he had the exact same look in his. Instead all he said was, “You know we can’t.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I just want him to be safe.”

“That’s why we’re doing this-“ Adam removed his jacket and laid it over the boy’s bare arms, “So we can make sure lots of kids like this are safe.”

“Some family better love this little boy so much,” Barbara said. “Or I swear to God I’ll be requesting a warrant for their arrest.”

Adam smirked at his wife’s sudden change of tone. She was so perfect for this job. So, so maternal and loving, yet so ruthless and strong. He was really just here to cook and do the children’s hair.

“Come on,” he said eventually. “We’ve got a new placement to supervise tomorrow, and then we have to find someone to take this guy.”

“I want to keep him,” Barbara whispered. She said this about every child they met, but Adam knew she meant it each time. They’d taken on this role thinking they weren’t at all ready to have children of their own, but rapidly realised they’d been better prepared than over half a million families. As much as it pained them it was really a benefit that they were now too busy with work to have a child, or else they’d have adopted every child whose case they were given to manage.

“Me too,” Adam agreed. “But instead we’re going to find him a really nice home, with parents who won’t leave him in a burning house.”

Barbara looked uncertain.

“We’re going to get him adopted, Barb, I promise.”

She nodded, and rose without taking her eyes off the boy. “It’s Laurence, right?”

“I think his file said he’d rather be called BJ, but I don’t know where he got that from. His initials are LBS-“ Adam paused. “That’s probably pretty rough, he’s a chunky little guy.”

“Oh, he’s adorable,” Barbara cooed. “If he wants to be called-“ She stopped. The innuendo of the name had flown right over Adam’s head, “Bee-Jay, then that’s what we’ll call him.”

“Of course.”

They took one last look at the child.

How bad could he really be?


	2. Laurence meets (two of) the Deetzes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Four years later.

It felt all too much like shopping for a child.

The room was packed with children of all ages, including a small nursery area attended by carers, and a gaggle of teens all wearing yellow shirts with name tags. The room was also packed with pairs of adults, mostly cooing over the toddlers or playing with the younger children. A large group of tweens had been left to entertain themselves.

In her hand Delia held a clipboard on which she’d been told to write down the name of any child she and Charles might be interested in fostering. How could they choose? How could they possibly choose, when all of these kids were in desperate need of a loving home?

In a way, this felt worse than not fostering a child. But they’d talked it over continuously for the past two years, and Charles has decided this was what Lydia needed: a friend, a sibling, someone who could better understand what she was going through.

“Hi.”

The deep, gravelly voice beside Delia startled her so much she crashed into Charles.

The greeting was followed by a violent coughing fit, then a rosy-cheeked teen stepped in front of the couple.

“Sorry about that!” He said in a soft, cheery manner. “It’s the asthma, really gets to me sometimes.

“Hi!” He repeated. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Hello-“ Charles squinted to read the boy’s name tag, “Laurence. We’re just feeling a little bit...” He trailed off.

“Like you’re shopping for groceries? I know, it’s awkward for sure, but this is such a great way for us to pair children up with families!” He punctuated each word with a sunny smile. “Let me show you around! I know all he kiddos here, I can introduce you to some real sweet kids.”

He started towards the younger children, Delia and Charles hesitantly following, then halted when a couple sat themselves down beside the last unoccupied child. “Oh darn,” Laurence said pleasantly. “These guys are so popular! But don’t worry, I think there are some six year olds playing with the older kids.”

Before he could set off again Delia halted him. “Um, actually, we were thinking about an older child.”

Laurence furrowed his brow. His head titled slightly to the side and he was silent for a while. “Older child?” He mused eventually. “Well, that’s a new one on me! How old ya thinking?”

“My daughter’s fifteen,” Charles said, “And we’d like a child around her age. No younger than thirteen, but anyone older is fine.”

Once again Laurence was speechless. He sucked in a deep breath, then exhaled, “A teenager? Oh boy! Please, come right this way!” He set off again, this time with, if it was possible, even more of a spring in his step. Delia noted that he was still leading them towards the younger teens.

“Laurence, how old are you?” She asked. His height and chubby features said thirteen, but the twelve o’clock shadow said at least sixteen.

“Seventeen and four months to the day, ma’am,” Laurence beamed.

“And do you just volunteer here?”

“My wife must be looking for a job,” Charles chuckled, but the glare he gave Delia wasn’t so amiable.

She shot him an equally icy one in return.

“I wouldn’t call it volunteering,” Laurence said. “When they’re desperately under-staffed us older kids have to help out.”

“So you’re a foster kid?”

“Yup!”

“How long have you been in the system?”

“Oh, only twelve years.”

“Twelve-“ Delia grabbed Charles arm for support. “Twelve years!”

Charles put a protective arm around Delia, then using it to hold her back slightly. “What are you doing?” He hissed, once Laurence was out of earshot.

“Isn’t he just lovely, Charles? What a warm, sunny little boy.”

“Delia, I thought we agreed on a girl.”

“That was before we got here and I realised how inhumane that sounded!” Delia exclaimed. “How could we possibly take another child now?”

“Easy,” Charles huffed. “We literally just take another child.”

“But it’s like when you’re at the store and you pick a mango up, then realise it’s bruised, but you can’t swap it for another mango because you’ve already grown attached to that one.” Delia gazed up at Charles. “You know?”

Charles blinked. Hard. “He’s not a bruised mango, Delia. He’s almost a full grown man who’s had to deal with a terrible system for twelve years. We can’t introduce someone like that to Lydia.”

“But Charles, he’s a sweetheart. And so positive! And Lydia’s former life coach, I say he’d be a good role model for her!”

The fact that Charles didn’t response immediately indicated that he was considering it.

Delia glances over at Laurence. He’d stopped to wait for them, and when she caught his eye he flipped a fluffy, brown fringe from his eyes and grinned. She smiled gently in return.

“Alright,” Charles grumbled.

“Alright?”

“Alright, we’ll take the kid home with us. I know I couldn’t live with myself if we left him here. But if he starts acting up you’re the one who has to deal with him.”

Delia was barely listening. She beckoned Laurence back over to them, smiling like a piranha. “Laurence, how would you like to come live with us?” She asked.

Laurence stared. Smiled. Thought about it some more.

Then he burst into tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. BJ meets Lydia

“Please be good,” Barbara said, cupping BJ’s cheek.

“Please, please be good,” Adam added, pulling him off Barbara to wrap him in a hug. He kissed the top of his head before he pulled away.

“You’re such a lovely young man, BJ, please behave,” Barbara continued. She kissed his forehead then squeezed him tightly.

“I get, I get it,” BJ snapped. “I’m seventeen and this is my last chance.”

“Hey.” Adam touched his arm. “No such thing as last chances, remember? We’re never giving up on you.”

BJ rolled his eyes. That’s what they’d all said. ‘You’re five, someone will adopt you in no time.’ ‘Don’t worry, it was only one incident.’ ‘We’ll find you a home.’ ‘We won’t leave you.’ ‘We’re never giving up on you.’

The only difference with the Maitlands was that they never had.

BJ had screamed, fought, threatened, and swore his way through five sets of case workers and nineteen foster placements. At this point the Maitlands were fools for trying to find him a home; they’d be better off just giving him his first bump of cocaine and sending him on his way.

The door opened and BJ plastered on his most winning smile. These people were schmucks. They’d met him twice and decided that, despite the horrible things they’d heard, he was the sweet kid they’d ‘come to know.’ He’d bet anything their daughter was an idiot, too.

Maybe if he played this one right he could walk away with a chunk of whatever millions bought them this mansion.

Though, BJ did feel slightly sorry for them. They were the first people in ten years who’d chosen to foster him, rather than just being stuck with him. As much as he told himself the tears had been part of the act he knew they hadn’t been.

“Laurence!” BJ allowed himself to be hugged by Delia. Just five minutes. He just had to pretend to be good for another five minutes until the Maitlands left. Then he could start terrorising his new family.

“Young man.” Charles patted BJ on the shoulder. His grip was firm yet comforting. BJ resisted the urge to shrug him off.

“Is this all of your stuff?” Delia asked, shooting his tiny suitcase a disgusted look.

“Yes,” BJ growled, before lightening himself up. “But I don’t need much, it’s okay!”

The Maitlands smothered BJ in one last goodbye hug. “We love you,” they said.

“And please be good.”

“I know you’ll be good.”

“I’m not making any promises,” BJ shrugged.

The Deetzes laughed lightly.

The Maitlands shared a glance.

“We can’t wait for you to finally meet Lydia,” Charles said, closing the door as the still-anxious Maitlands retreated to their car. “And I think she’s looking forward to meeting you too.”

“You think?”

“Well, we, uh, haven’t spoke much lately.”

“Jeez, and you think you’re ready for another kid?”

Charles looked affronted, but said nothing on the matter. It was always like this. They tried to ignore the bad behaviour, pretend it wasn’t happening, and before they knew it BJ had control of the house.

BJ stopped sharply when he noticed the girl on the stairs. She was dressed in the deepest black, a stark contrast with her pale features, and she looked as if she hadn’t smiled in a decade.

BJ pulled a face at her.

She laughed.

He decided that he loved having a little sister.

BJ followed Charles and Delia into the kitchen where he put his bag down. They were watching him whilst trying to look like they weren’t.

“Uh, we were thinking we’d sit down and have a little talk,” Charles started. BJ made no attempts to look like he was listening. “Maybe tell each other a bit about ourselves, discuss house rules, then we’ll show you to your room.”

“Fuck that,” BJ scoffed.

“Excuse me?”

“I said: fuck that!” With each word BJ’s voice grew louder. “What is this, a nursery? I’m not sharing shit with you guys! I’m basically an adult, my secrets are my own.

“House rules? This is your house, not mine, and I’m not doing anything I don’t want to. You wash your own fucking dishes, sweep your own fucking floors, and tidy my goddamned room for me!” He was screaming now.

Charles tried to interject, holding a hand up in a placating manner. BJ looked around for a weapon. A vase, maybe?

He grabbed it; smashed the lip on the kitchen table. The way he held it wasn’t overtly threatening, but he ensured the shards were pointing towards the Deetzes.

“And my room? What do you mean: my room? It’s not mine. It’s some shitty, disused space in your house that you’ve decided to shove me in. So fuck that! And fuck you!”

BJ shattered the vase at the Deetzes feet and stormed out. Lydia was still sat on the stairs, wide-eyed. She didn’t shrink back when BJ stomped his way up beside her. He glared down at her like a bull in a ring.

“Will you paint my nails?”

“Do you like black?” She replied.

“Of course. Black and red are the only acceptable nail colours.”

“Then of course I will.”

~

Charles and Delia stood stock still, examining the wrecked vase around their feet.

Charles has no idea what had just happened. One moment he was talking calmly to their new foster son, the next thing he knew he was trying to protect his wife from getting stabbed.

“You, uh, promised you’d deal with this,” he said, voice edged with uncertainty.

“No I did not!” Delia cried. “I promised to scold him if he stole sweets or swore! This is- I am not prepared for this! Charles!”

“Well, I’ll go talk to him then.” Charles didn’t move. “I can’t leave him with Lydia.”

“Can’t we?” Delia asked. “They aren’t making any noise.”

She had a point. The house had quickly settled back into its usual peaceful ambience.

“Alright, maybe I’ll just look in her room, see what they’re doing. If they’re getting along nicely I guess there’s no harm in leaving them.”

Picking his way through the broken ceramic, Charles headed for his daughter’s room, all the while thinking about how he’d just made the most terrible mistake of his life.

What had they let themselves in for? And how long did they have to keep him until they could send him back?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. BJ gets his own room

BJ was forced to eat his words when he saw his bedroom.

It was late, well after the time Charles and Delia had gone to bed. He and Lydia had sat in her room talking for hours.

Her parents were scared of her, she said.

Everyone’s parents were scared of him, he replied.

Then they’d microwaved hot pockets and Lydia had offered to show him his room.

It was on the same floor as everyone’s else’s bedroom, which was a pleasant start, but that in no way prepared BJ for the shock inside.

For a start, it was big. Not master-bedroom big, but at least as large as Lydia’s, if not larger. There was room for a fluffy purple rug at the end of his bed, which BJ was looking forward to lying on. The walls were striped black and white, like much of the decor in the rest of the house. It filled BJ with a sense of something he’d never experienced before. He wanted to call it... inclusion.

The wardrobe and chest of drawers, both lacquered black, were empty, but the shelves, which spanned one wall of the room, were packed. That in itself was a surprise, but when BJ inspected them more closely he was astonished.

There was a baseball, and a bat, and a glove. In a rare fit of excitement BJ had forgotten that it he was suppose to tell dads he was interested in football, and had told Charles how much he loved baseball. He’d played softball every season as child, and joined a senior league as soon as he turned thirteen. He’d been good, too. BJ was used to bragging about things he was really just mediocre at, but when it came to baseball he really was astounding; provided he had his inhaler.

However with moving around so much BJ found he couldn’t always travel to practise. He was good, but there were plenty of other kids who were good and who could make practise. So he’d left the team before he was forcibly removed.

There was also a solid two shelves of books. Though not just any books; BJ’s favourite books: Shakespeare plays, Edgar Allan Poe, One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest. Children’s books he’d never been read as a child: The Graveyard Book, Scream Street, The Nightmare Room. As many of them as possible came with an accompanying audio book, but there was also a chunky dictionary with an index cut into the side.

BJ guessed the Maitlands had informed them he wasn’t much good at reading.

Other shelves were filled with miscellaneous items: a face painting kit, a magnifying glass, a baseball cap, a tiny chest that secretly unlocks from the bottom.

On the bed was some kind of patchy monstrosity, with three eyes and seven limbs and pointy teeth. Attached was a little note in curly cursive. BJ offered it to Lydia to read.

“It’s from Delia,” she said. “‘I always wanted to knit something for my children, but I never thought my children would be quite so old, or that I’d be quite so bad at knitting. Lydia got a single sock. The Maitlands told me you might like this.’”

BJ picked up the colourful, patchy creature.

“What is it?” Lydia asked.

BJ hugged the toy to his chest and whispered, “It’s a little monster.”

“Oh, cool.

“My dad likes to wake everyone in the house up early, so we should probably crash.” She looked BJ up and down and hesitated. “Uh, am I suppose to hug you goodnight, or-“

“Not if you don’t want to,” BJ said hurriedly. “But if you do want to, I mean, I guess you can, it’s whatev-“

Lydia grabbed him and hugged him. “I’m glad you’re here. I was scared that maybe you wouldn’t think I am, because I’m so sad all the time, but I really am.”

“I think you’re fun.” BJ patted her on the head in the way he imagined a big brother should. “We’ll have fun.”

So much fun. Chaotic fun. Shit-hit-the-fan-now-look-what-you’ve-done kind of fun.

In less than a week BJ could give her a new dead body to worry about and, oh boy, when that happened she wouldn’t even have time to think of her mom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	5. Breakfast riot #7

BJ snatched the plate up and smashed it on the floor. At least, he tried to smash it. It clattered harmlessly onto the tiles.

It was plastic.

A low growl started at the back of BJ’s throat. “Plastic!” He screamed. “Plastic? What? Don’t you trust me with the ceramic? You think I’m clumsy? You think I’m a kid?”

“Actually, you’ve just broken all our ceramic side plates,” Delia said tiredly.

She was tired for a reason. Every morning this week BJ had come downstairs, screamed bloody murder because there was no chocolate spread, then smashed a plate on the floor. He’d also run away twice, prank called the coast guard, and started a small fire in the garden. And consistently played loud music at one am. And carried a pocket knife around with him constantly, just in case someone needed threatening.

The Deetzes were at their wits end.

Well, the Deetzes minus Lydia. She was always either causing chaos with BJ or egging him on.

The solitary upside to fostering, Charles had decided, was getting to see Lydia smile again.

But he could take her to a comedy show; BJ had to go.

BJ picked up the insulting plastic plate and snapped it in half, then ground the pieces into the grout. “Where’s the fucking chocolate spread?”

“We’ve already told you, we don’t keep chocolate spread in this household. It’s bad for you, and it doesn’t promote a healthy chakra,” Delia explained. She was eating some kind of green powder mixed with oat milk. BJ knocked it into her lap.

“What the fuck? I don’t know what you’re talking about, you talk shit. Can we have chocolate spread or not?”

“No!” Delia and Charles cried in unison. They’d had a lot of practise.

BJ tilted his head back to far and opened his mouth so wide they could see all his fillings. Then he screamed as though the earth was ending.

Delia got up to change her dress.

Charles plugged his ears.

Lydia smirked and ate her cereal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The last chapters were all pre-written, but that took me two days, so I shouldn't be long with the next few :)


	6. Mall breakdown #oh God we've stopped counting

BJ stopped stock still. It was perfect. Beautiful. The most incredible thing he’d ever seen.

A gaudy, short-sleeved holiday shirt pattered with a colourful collage of bugs.

BJ had never wanted anything more in his life.

“Hey!” He called out to Charles and Delia, who had carried on ahead of him. Trying to leave him behind? He’d show them. He’d teach them. He’d make such a scene.

“Hey! I want this!” He yelled.

Charles and Delia turned back. They looked exhausted. This was the third time this trip BJ had decided he just had to have something. They’d only come to the mall to but new photographic paper for Lydia’s camera. They’d been here over an hour.

“Are you listening?” BJ stomped his foot and pointed to the glass. “I want this shirt!”

“You’re not getting the shirt,” Charles explained calmly. “When you demand things like that we’re not going to buy them.”

“But I want it!”

“Come on, we’re going,” Charles said.

“No! I want it! You come back here!”

“Laurence-“ Delia hissed firmly.

BJ dropped to his knees. Tipped his head back. Screamed.

Customers on the upper floor of the mall startled and began to worry there was a murder going on downstairs.

“Laurence.”

“Dad, don’t call him that,” Lydia said.

Charles strode over to the wailing child. “Laurence, get up right now.”

“No!” BJ threw himself backwards as Charles grabbed for his arm.

“Laurence.” Charles swiped for him again, this time catching hold of his sleeve. “We’re going home right now, young man.”

Lydia almost laughed at her father’s stern tone.

Charles started to pull BJ towards the exit.

“Stranger!”

“What?”

“Stranger!” BJ screamed again. “This man is kidnapping me!”

“No- No I’m not,” Charles insisted nervously.

“He’s really not,” Lydia chimed in. “That’s my brother.”

Once he realised BJ would never budge Charles grabbed him around the waist and threw him over his shoulder.

BJ began to wail more ferociously. “I’m being kidnapped! Help me!”

The whole mall was looking at them.

“Laurence, stop that,” Charles begged.

“That’s not my name! Put me down! Stranger!” BJ hammered on Charles’ back.

“I promise he’s our kid,” Charles called out to the worried onlookers. “I have the foster papers in my pocket. This is the fifth time he’s done this this week.”

Finally, blissfully, they’d reached the door. Delia, who’d fled the scene, was waiting in the car.

“Thought it better to let you handle this,” she said sweetly as Charles forced BJ into the back of the car to prevent him from running away. He huffed.

When Charles got behind the wheel he tilted his mirror so that he could look BJ right in the eyes. “We are going to have a serious talk,” he rumbled.

BJ kicked his seat so hard he almost got whiplash.

“Or we could listen to calypso.”

Lydia and BJ cheered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	7. Charles and Delia talk (about doing something awful)

They collapsed, rather than got, into bed that night.

Delia glanced across at her husband. His eyes were closed, but his body was tensed and his jaw clenched. She reached across to hug him, but hesitated, and instead patted him lightly on the shoulder.

“Mm?”

“Should we talk about-“

“I want rid of him,” Charles responded as he sat bolt upright. “That child is a monster, a degenerate, and I want him out of our home.”

Delia blinked hard. She agreed wholeheartedly, of course, but would never go so far as to phrase it like that. As Delia thought of it: BJ was a project, and, despite her best efforts, she’d never been any good at working on projects. He was the perfect child for someone, and that someone was anyone but them.

“I must admit, I do share your concerns,” she said with caution. “But it can’t just be that easy, can it? Just call that nice couple and tell them we don’t want him anymore.”

“There must be hundreds of couples better equipped to take him,” Charles said, but he could feel the lie rotting his teeth. BJ had been to nineteen foster placements, and that wasn’t even counting all the times he’d had to stay with his case workers. Nobody knew what to do with him, and nobody wanted him.

“He’s eighteen in six months,” Delia whispered. “If we don’t keep him we’re basically sending him out into the world with nothing. That boy’s a mess, he can’t handle the world on his own.”

“But if we keep him,” Charles sighed, “He’ll probably still be living here when he’s thirty two.”

“We could just move,” Delia chuckled. “And leave him here. It’s his house now.”

Charles leaned over to rest his head on her shoulder. “I wish that boy had a mute button.”

Even now the sounds of heavy metal drifted through the walls. It was well past midnight.

“I can’t keep living like this.”

“Yes but Charles, he’s been living like this his whole life.” Delia ran her fingers through his hair. “Let’s just give him another couple of weeks, and if we really can’t take it, then we’ll see what we can do.”

They paused to enjoy a silent moment, but instead got to enjoy a few bars of Queen of the Damned.

“Lydia does love him,” Charles smiled. “She’s so much happier. And I guess I’m better at talking to her, because I’m trying so hard not to talk to Laurence.”

“He is great for her,” Delia mused. “We’ll just have to see how things go.” She rolled over and pressed one ear firmly into the pillow. “Now let’s at least try to get some sleep.”

They tried.

They couldn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> The next chapter should be longer and better, as it's basically the whole reason I wrote the fic. And also because fostering kids is good and anyone capable should do so. I'm out.


	8. BJ talks to Delia for a whole five minutes without yelling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had something important to tell you about this chapter, but I can't remember what it is. Apologies!

The house was empty. Charles had taken Lydia out to a diner and Delia was at some sort of life-guru conference. They’d decided it was condescending to get BJ a babysitter; instead they’d promised to ground him for a week if so much as a carpet hair was out of place.

Joke’s on them: he never went anywhere!

Aside from the second floor bathroom. With Delia’s makeup. Which he stole from her room.

The face paints were fun, but they were gaudy and childish. He was great at making himself look like a clown, or a raccoon, but he wanted to be pretty. And crayon paint sticks just wouldn’t cut it.

Opening the box, BJ discovered that Delia had a whole rainbow of eyeshadows. Exactly what he wanted!

Lydia had offered to lend him her own eyeshadows, but each one was a different shade of black. BJ wasn’t that much of a goth.

He picked out a puke-coloured green - he was a teenage boy after all - and began to apply it with with a delicate brush. It had taken seventeen years of his life, but BJ had finally learned to suppress the urge to squish his eyeballs while applying eyeshadow.

It wasn’t often that BJ cared about makeup. Looking tired and grizzled and angry all the time was BJ’s aesthetic; he took pride in it. But he found art relaxing without having the patience or steady hands required to be a good artist. So instead he drew on his face.

He’d almost finished with one eye when the bathroom door cracked open. Old house, BJ thought, reaching a foot back to kick it closed, when he noticed an eye peering at him through the gap. He dropped the brush. He screamed.

“No, no!” The door burst open and Delia stepped in. “It’s just me, don’t be scared!”

If anything, this frightened BJ more than a murderer would have. “I wasn’t doing anything!” He yelled, throwing himself back against the side of the tub. “I’m not wearing makeup! This isn’t what it looks like!”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Delia held her hands up, and BJ couldn’t tell if she was afraid of him, or afraid he thought she might hit him. “I don’t mind.”

“I wasn’t-“ He started to exclaim, then paused. Watery mascara trickled down his cheek. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all, come here.” Delia placed a hand under his chin. “Oh, don’t you look pretty,” she breathed. “You’re so good at this. I always wished Lydia would add a bit more colour to her style.”

BJ jerked his head out of her grasp. His chest started to shake with the ferocity of his sobs, and he crumpled to the floor. Delia sat down beside him.

“What’s wrong with me?” BJ gasped between sobs.

Delia regarded him carefully: where to even begin?

But he ploughed on before she could even start, “I’m nearly eighteen, and no one’s even kissed me.”

Delia almost smiled. This wasn’t where she’d seen this conversation going, but it was certainly edging further into her territory.

“I like girls and guys, and basically anyone, it’s not like I’m picky. But no one will even kiss me. What’s wrong with me?”

Prepared to offer gentle advice, Delia opened her mouth, but BJ wasn’t finished yet.

“Sometimes, when I try to breath, my chest gets all tight, and I use my inhaler, but it doesn’t work, and my chest just keeps getting tighter, like I’m one of those guys on trial for witchcraft, and it hurts so much, it feels like my lungs are being weighed down, and I just feel like crying, and sometimes it’s so bad I wish I’d just die instead.”

Delia pulled BJ’s head onto her shoulder and ran her fingers through his hair. He didn’t yell or resist; he leaned desperately into the touch. She wiped the tears from his cheeks and waited for him to continue.

“Sometimes, all the time, I think that I’m going to die without ever really getting to be happy. I don’t even know what it’s suppose to be like. I don’t know if I’ve ever been happy. And then one day I’m going to die and my whole life has just been sad.

“My mom promised she’d come get me.” BJ closed his eyes and snuggled closer to Delia. “She promised, when they took me away, that she’d get me back. And she never did. She didn’t even care about me.”

Delia held her tongue. She was desperate to drop ‘mom-advice’ on him like a ton of bricks, but what he needed right now was a moment of quiet. To be in a room with BJ and for it to be quiet was a novelty in itself.

After a while, a significant while, she sat up straight so she could look BJ in the eyes.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” she said, and BJ started to cry again. He’d always told himself that, but no one else ever had. “It’s perfectly normal to be eighteen and never kissed anyone. I was twenty before I kissed anyone who wasn't my mom.”

“Oh.” BJ wiped his face, smudging his makeup.

“And I don’t know what’s going on with your chest, but we’re going to take you to the doctor’s for that right away. I’m all for alternate medicine, obviously, but I don’t risk anything when it comes to my children.”

Children. BJ gave a small smile in spite of himself.

“And don’t you ever worry about what’s going to happen when you die. The universe has a plan for you, just you wait. You’re so young, there are going to be so many wonderful things in your life. I promise you’ll be happy; I promise we’ll do something to make you happy.”

BJ’s chest felt tight again, only this time it wasn’t painful. He felt as if he was overflowing with emotion. Warm, positive, fulfilling emotion. He thought that he might cry for the rest of his life, but at least he was happy-crying.

“And I’m sorry your mom didn’t come back for you,” Delia sighed. “But we’re so glad you’re here, and you’re safe, and I love you.”

BJ side-eyed her in a guarded manner. “What do you mean?”

“What do I-“ Delia smiled carefully. “I mean that I love you.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been so bad.” BJ threw his arms around her neck so vehemently he knocked her backwards. She stroked the short hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not bad, you’re just... difficult. So, so difficult. You really have made life hard for us. Do you mind if I ask: why are you acting out like this? What are we doing wrong?” She gazed down at him, genuinely waiting to hear his reply.

“Why bother behaving?” BJ grumbled, sitting back and dropping his gaze to his lap. “You’re just going to give me away anyway.”

Delia frowned. “What makes you say that?”

“Because that’s what always happens.” BJ snapped. Sheepishly, he calmed his tone. “I’ve been to nineteen foster homes, do you really think I kicked and screamed my way out of all of them?”

“I, I guess not,” Delia relented.

“I’m just preemptively protecting myself. One day you’re going to hit me, or scream at me, or, or lock me in a cupboard and forget I’m there. At that point I’m going to have to start protecting myself; I’ve learned that it’s beneficial to start early.” BJ hadn’t always been, as everyone seemed to put it, a little monster. He’d used to try so hard to fit in with his new placement families, but it never, ever worked out. Someone always wanted to hit him, or sexually harass him, or make him exercise without his inhaler until he collapsed in a fit on the floor and concerned onlookers had to call for an ambulance. Because eight year olds shouldn’t be fat, she said. Eight year olds. Fucking eight!

So BJ started being prickly. He started being rude. He started hitting people before they hit first. Spitting acidic comments before anyone got the chance to tear him down. He began to demand the things he wanted, because what was the point in asking nicely if it didn’t work? At least if he screamed, and kicked, and made a scene people would sometimes give into the social pressure. Then he wouldn’t have to wear the same shirt every day for a week.

His behaviour would never get him adopted, he knew that. But at some point he’d decided it was better to make it to eighteen unscathed and figure things out once he got there than to ever allow a family to push him around again.

“Sweetie,” Delia touched his cheek, “We’re never going to do any of those things to you. I know it seemed frivolous, and maybe it was on Charles’ part, but I always wanted two children. I really, really wanted you.”

“Yeah, but not me specifically,” BJ huffed.

“Not anyone specifically. Just someone who’s bright, and sweet, and willing to try. You’ve proven you’re all of those things with Lydia.” Lydia. She got it. Not the ‘it’ that was ‘an abusive system filled with cash-hungry people who are never condemned by a cash-hungry government,’ but the ‘it’ that was ‘daily pain and emptiness.’

“Lydia’s different,” He said. “She’s not going to get rid of me. She’s not going to hurt me when she understands how it feels to be hurt.”

“I promise we’re never going to hurt you on purpose.”

On purpose. BJ would try to bear that in mind, he decided. The Deetzes, as much as he didn’t want to admit it following his last two weeks of behaviour, weren’t out to get him. They were just trying very hard at something they weren’t all that good at. Until now. This wasn’t bad, BJ thought.

“You’re just making things so hard for us. I’ve seen you with those audios and those Shakespeare books, learning to read them. I’ve seen you playing baseball with Lydia in the yard, and building forts with her, and lifting her up so she can climb trees. You’re a lovely, creative kid, can you please try to be more like that around us?”

Usually it offended BJ when people tried to tell him how to act. He didn’t want to take his elbows off the table, or go to church on Sundays, or take swimming lessons (he’d rather drown, thank you). But here Delia was, asking him, begging him, to act more like himself around them. He smiled.

“I don’t know how to deal with it when I’m angry,” he confessed. “That’s all.”

“Well, that’s alright. We can talk about that, and we can always find someone else who’s good at that kind of thing.”

“Like a therapist?” BJ knew it would only be a matter of time before his life came to ‘get a therapist or become a drug addict.’

“Only if you want that.”

“Mm, I’ll consider.”

“And you’ll try to just... calm down a little?” Delia asked. “Think before you scream?”

BJ shrugged. “I can’t make any promises, but if I get really angry I can promise to go cool off somewhere.”

“You’re a smart kid,” Delia told him. He blushed. He couldn’t read; the last time he’d been called smart was first grade.

“And the music at night, can we do something about that? I just want to sleep and, no offence, by the looks of things you do too.” She paused, posing the next question delicately, “Are you scared of the dark?”

“No. I’m scared of what happens in the dark.”

“BJ-“ BJ’s ears pricked up at the sound of his actual name, “We are not going to let anything happen to you. If someone broke in Lydia would kill them with a chain saw.”

BJ laughed. She would.

“And if you’re scared of having nightmares then that’s okay. You can wake me up any time. Or Charles. Charles loves waking up really early in the morning, you can test his limits if you like.”

“He wouldn’t want me to bother him,” BJ said. He and Lydia were practically blood relations at this point, and even before this talk he and Delia had had a few moments of normalcy, but BJ was certain Charles hated him. Whenever they were together Charles seemed furious, so BJ avoided him when he could.

“Charles... has had a lot going on lately. But I can assure you that if you try, he’ll try too. Lydia will tell you the same.”

Well, as long as Lydia agreed.

“So, do you uh, want some dinner?” Delia asked, standing and helping BJ up.

“You cook?”

“Wha- How dare- No, I’m the worst,” she chuckled. “You?”

“I’d probably kill us both, and not even on purpose. Can we order pizza? Please,” he added.

“Oh, alright. But don’t tell Charles I didn’t make you healthy, home cooked meal. Or that I eat pizza. And don’t tell Lydia we got pizza without her.”

“Can you let me drink alcohol and not tell Charles, too?”

Delia considered it. “No.”

BJ didn’t yell. He wanted to, but reminded himself that Delia was being kind to him. He took a deep breath and recalled how he acted around the Maitlands, the only people he felt safe with. He could act like that here, if he tried. What harm could it do? The moment things started to go wrong it wouldn’t be hard to embark on a new reign of chaos.

“Can we watch Sex in the City and not tell Charles?”

“I don’t think that show is anything like what you think it is, but yes.”

BJ fist pumped like he’d seen a guy do on TV. It felt empowering, but also like he’d be embarrassed if anyone but Delia had seen him do it.

“Uh, Delia?”

“Yes?”

“I love the doll, by the way. It’s probably the best thing anyone’s ever given me. Thank you.” BJ had sat the little monster on his bedside table, but quickly relocated it to his pillow when he couldn’t get to sleep. It was the perfect mixture of strange and adorable, and now BJ didn’t know how he was going to sleep without it.

“That was your lovely case workers' idea. They suggested we make you something, to help you feel like part of the family, but unfortunately my talents lie with sculpture birthing, and I didn’t think you’d be all that interested in modern art.”

“Yeah, I hate it,” BJ nodded candidly. “But I love the toy. Thank you. And I’m sorry. For-“ He gestured to himself, “This.”

“It’s alright,” Delia said. “I think I understand you a little better now, talking was nice. But in this house we’re big on actions, not words. Try to behave yourself, and that’ll mean so much more than an apology.”

BJ took a deep breath. He was going to try so fucking hard to be a sweet kid the Deetzes wouldn’t know what had hit them! Or something more polite along those lines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Are y'all ready for Beej + Charles to do some father-son bonding (not in the next chapter but the one after)? 'Cause I sure am!


	9. BJ breaks some more stuff, but he’s really very nice about it

BJ padded into the kitchen. For the first time in two weeks he’d got into bed at eleven pm and slept until morning. That meant everyone else had, too; and it showed. The kitchen was full of warm conversation and bright-eyed faces.

Until BJ walked in.

“Morning BJ,” Lydia said brightly, while Charles and Delia regarded him with care.

BJ made his way over to the toaster without saying a word and picked up a loaf of bread. He held it aloft slightly awkwardly. “Does anyone want toast?”

Charles glanced at Delia. Delia glanced at Lydia. Lydia shrugged; they could figure out how to understand their child on their own.

“No, uh, thank you,” Charles said.

BJ put two pieces of toast in the slots, then waited patiently to watch them cook so as not to set the toaster on fire again. When the toaster popped he startled, but took a deep breath to calm himself rather than loudly venting his frustration. Toast plated, he sat down beside Lydia.

“May I please have the jam?” He asked her.

It was right next to his elbow, but Lydia still picked it up and placed it in his hand.

“Thank you.” BJ began to heap spoonfuls of blackcurrant jam onto his breakfast. “Did everyone sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you sweetie,” Delia said. They shared a smile.

BJ crammed both pieces of toast in his mouth in under a minute, then did the unthinkable: washed his own plate.

Or tried to.

No matter how hard or how much BJ turned the hot tap nothing happened. Was he doing it wrong? He tried turning it the other way. The other tap? No, that was cold. Freezing cold. He turned it off in frustration and tried the hot tap again. Still nothing.

Behind him someone was trying to get his attention, but he wasn’t listening. He had to turn the fucking tap on.

There was a wrench beside the sink.

BJ grabbed it and smashed it into the tap. Still nothing? He smashed it again, harder and faster, more furiously with each passing second.

He stopped.

Looked at the crumpled tap.

“Uh.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll call the plumber.”

Avoiding all eye contact, BJ headed for the door.

“BJ.” Charles stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and BJ tensed, eyes screwed shut. When a few moments passed without anything happening, BJ re-opened his eyes. Charles was holding out a small slip of paper. “I think you’ll need this.”

BJ stared at him blankly.

“It’s the number for the plumber.”

BJ took the slip. Charles mouth twisted into what BJ hoped was suppose to be a smile. “Thank you for, uh, calling for me. I meant to do it yesterday.”

“That’s... oh... kay...” BJ snatched his shoulder back and dashed into the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Sorry it’s short, I’ve been sorting uni stuff, I promise tomorrow’s will be longer! Charles takes BJ to work with him and he pretends he’s a lil realtor and Beej is l i v i n g for the attention.


	10. BJ and Charles do some realtor stuff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (One month later)
> 
> Yea, that’s right, I’m time skipping like a weak-ass baby!

The only thing BJ had ever been paid for was babysitting. He moved around too much to hold down a proper job, and anyway, nothing was ever capable of maintaining his attention for long. But babysitting? BJ was an expert.

Children got bored just as easily as he did, so he was excellent at keeping them entertained, and once they went to bed he took full advantage of parents’ ‘take whatever you want to eat from the cupboards’ rule. Whenever a career advisor came to his school he always told them he wanted to be a babysitter for the rest of his life.

He was still fairly certain that’s what he wanted. But there was something so thrilling about getting to go to work with Charles, and it was more than just the free cookies.

“You have left some in the tub, right BJ?” Charles asked as they stepped out of the car.

BJ inspected the half-full cookie tub. “Some, yeah.”

“Okay, good.”

They’d driven half an hour to a stunning new build - all windows and smooth plaster - in the middle of a field. Charles was having his last showing with a couple and their realtor, who were deciding between this and its complete antithesis: an 18th century build town house.

“Are you sure I can’t pretend it’s haunted?” BJ tilted his head in an endearing manner. “Gay people love haunted houses.”

“No.” Charles took the cookies from BJ and began to lay them out on a fancy plate he’d brought. “You and Lydia love haunted houses. I don’t think that’s what these women are looking for.” He frowned at the feeble pile of cookies. “And anyway, they only finished decorating this place two months ago. Who would’ve died here?”

“I’ve actually been thinking about that a lot.” BJ looked up to see that the living room ceiling extended past the second and third floors and right to the skylight. “So, like, it’s like Monster House, y’know? The film?”

“Yes,” Charles said tiredly. Thanks to Lydia Halloween movies became year-round movies in the Deetz household.

“I was thinking, like, when they were laying the foundations of the house one of the workmen fell into the cement! And the other workers were like ‘ooh, noo, this was horrible malpractice, better cover this up!’ So they don’t tell anyone he’s dead, and they say he just didn’t show up to work one day, but they feel awful harbouring this terrible secret.

“Aaaand then! As they’re building the rest of the house, weird things start happening. They see shadows in broad daylight, they hear disembodied voices, they have way more workplace incidents. Everyone’s terrified to be at the building site at night.

“Eventually they finish the job, and they’re so relieved. But now someone has to buy the house! And they’ll have to stay over night!”

BJ glanced at Charles. He looked vaguely disgruntled.

“Fine, sorry,” BJ grumbled. “Make up your own fun stories.”

Charles cracked a smile. “You have a wonderful imagination, but I don’t think it’s quite appropriate when we’re trying to sell this place.”

“Can I do some close up magic, then?” BJ snapped his fingers, creating a small burst of green flame.

“Very impressive,” Charles nodded with all the sincerity and attention one would pay an enthusiastic toddler. “Maybe once we’ve shown them the house, okay?”

“Ugh,” BJ groaned. “Fine. This is going to be boring. I can’t even eat more cookies. Or...” He looked hopefully to Charles.

“No.”

“Uuurgh! Fine!”

The doorbell rang, and Charles poked BJ in the back to remind him to stand up straight. “Smile,” he begged. “And be good, please. You’ve been so good recently, just please be good.”

“Whatever,” BJ said with a beaming grin.

Charles opened the door to the couple and their realtor. BJ couldn’t tell which two women were the couple and which was the realtor.

He tugged on Charles sleeve and whispered, “They all look like hipsters.”

“Ha ha,” Charles boomed, “Lovely-“ He looked away from BJ and to the people stood in the threshold. “Lovely to see you again! I hope you don’t mind, I brought my son BJ along with me.”

BJ’s fake grin quickly turned into a genuine one. Charles had never called him his son before.

“Hi.” He stuck his hand out to one of the women. “It’s short for Blow Job.”

Charles snatched BJ’s arm back before he could shake anyone’s hand, laughing with an anxious jitter in his throat. “Betelgeuse is such a kidder,” he said, giving BJ’s arm a firm squeeze. “He’s named after a star, of course.”

“I am?” BJ looked up at him with wonder.

Charles leaned closer to him and said softly, “I’ll show it to you later. Just let me sell this house first.”

Charles began to talk about the benefits of having a living room that is 100% window, so BJ tagged on to the back of the group. “Hey,” he said to the nearest woman. “You gay?”

She swung her gaze over to BJ. “No.”

“So you’re the realtor?” He asked.

“Eww. No. I’m bisexual.”

“Oh, we’re being specific? Well I, personally, think it’s panphobic that the kids at school don’t want to kiss me.”

The woman stopped giving BJ a dead-eyed stare and her face brightened into something resembling human emotion. “You are just the cutest,” she grinned. She reached forward and shook the shoulder of one of the women. “Laura, this overweight Jewish boy is the cutest, we have to get one.”

Laura turned around and whispered, “Katy, I’ve told you, that’s not how adoption works.” She glanced at BJ. “But Mr Deetz’ son is adorable. We’re definitely getting a boy.”

“You’re adopting? That’s cool,” BJ said. Charles was talking enthusiastically about open-plan spaces. The person who, by default, had to be the realtor was typing on her phone. Laura was listening attentively. Katy was slipping back into her dead-eyed stare.

“Hey,” he grabbed Katy’s attention again. “Y’know, this is a really great house to raise kids in.”

“It is?”

Charles moves on to the kitchen, but Katy didn’t seem to be following. She sat down on the sofa and motioned for BJ to sit beside her. He plopped himself down.

“Yeah. The schools here are great. I usually get Fs, but I’ve been getting C-s recently. It probably also has something to do with me having a regular sleep schedule and a family who helps me with my work, but I’m going to say it’s the schools.”

“Interesting.”

“Y’know what else is interesting?” BJ was loving this. He just had to keep his cool, and his concentration, and he could help Charles sell this house. But if he blew it, oh God, if he blew it Charles would certainly send him back to the group home. “My dad-“ He’d decided that calling Charles ‘dad’ made him seem cuter, “Says you’re looking at another house?”

“Yeah, on Alps Road, in Thompson,” Katy told him. “Why?”

Now it was time for BJ to use his real talent: acting. “Alps road? Number thirteen?”

“Yeah. Why?” BJ was beginning to think he’d found the only adult in the state with a smaller vocabulary than him.

“I used to live there.” He delivered the line with enough enthusiasm to keep Katy engaged, but with a sombre twist he hoped would intrigue her.

“With your family?” She gestured to Charles, who was now ascending to the first floor.

“No, with a different family. They used to leave me alone a lot, in that big, old, empty house.”

“Oh, that must’ve been horrible.”

“I was used to it.” BJ gave a melancholy shrug. “But that wasn’t the worst part. There was something wrong with that house.” BJ paused; pretended to look pensive for a moment. “Sorry, I don’t want to bother you with all this. It’ll just ruin the house for you.”

“No, no, tell me.” Katy shifted her body so she could face BJ straight on. He had to forcibly restrain his smile; this was going too perfectly.

“A-alright. It usually happened late at night. I’d hear these creaking noises, like footsteps out in the hallway. I’d just moved in with a big family, so at first it didn’t bother me, but then one day I asked who it was always moving around at night. They interrogated each other, but ultimately decided I was just hearing things.

“I’ve lived in a lot of scary, old houses, so I didn’t let it bother me. I’m easy, y’know?” He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

“Uh, is that uh, a sex-“ Katy started tentatively.

“Anyway! That night I was brushing my teeth and I felt like I could see this silhouette in the mirror. It was person shaped, I guess, but also kind of crooked and broken. It gave me the shivers, because it felt like it was staring right at me. Whenever I turned around, though, it was gone.

“I went to bed that night, but something was off. Every time Iclosed my eyes it felt like someone was watching me. Every time I opened them there was no one there. I didn’t sleep all night.

“The next morning, when the sun came up, I still had this horrible feeling that someone was watching me. I kept catching sight of things out the corner of my eye, like someone lurking just out of view. I nearly got whiplash, I was turning my head that much.

“I was on edge for days, barely sleeping or eating. If the family I was staying with had cared about me at all they would’ve taken me to hospital, but they barely noticed. It was like having sleep paralysis every night; I’d lie on the bed shivering, trying to figure out what was watching me.

“One night, after a two weeks of scarcely sleeping, I decided enough was enough. I turned on the light. And there, in the corner, was the most hideous sight I’d ever seen: pale skin, sunken eyes, a broken, twisted body, like the thing had suffered a great fall. To this day I don’t know what it was, but I knew even then that it was dead.

“I screamed. I screamed so long, and so loud, and didn’t stop. The family came in and I didn’t stop. They called my case workers and I didn’t stop. I screamed all the way to the hospital and only stopped when they knocked me unconscious.

“That family sent me back to the group home. They said I was a weird, anti-social kid. But a couple of weeks later my case workers told me they were moving house. I wasn’t surprised.”

BJ looked smugly at Katy. She was quaking in her designer dolly-shoes, wide-eyes like a small child.

BJ had been lying his ass off, of course. He’d never even lived on Alps road, and he wished he’d seen a ghost. That was just a story he’d been saving in case he wanted an excuse for a dramatic exit from his current placement. It had always seemed a little weak to him, but it’d worked a charm on Katy; she was utterly speechless.

“BJ!” Charles was descending the stairs, Laura and realtor in tow. “There you are, I was worried you’d got into some trouble. Thank you for keeping Katy company for me.”

Katy leapt up. “We have to buy this house!” She leaned across the back of the couch, grabbing a startled Laura’s hands. “We absolutely have to buy this house!”

“Well, it is lovely,” Laura mused. “But that other house-“

“No!” Katy wailed. “It has to be this one, please, it’s perfect.” She grabbed an unsuspecting BJ and squished his cheeks. “It’s the perfect place to raise kids.”

“Yuh.” BJ wriggled his way out of Katy’s grasp. “It is!”

“Oh...” Laura glanced around. “Alright, I guess it is a much safer place to raise a family.”

“Muuuch safer,” BJ said with a wink and a nod at Katy.

“Mr Deetz,” Laura shook his hand, “We would like to make you an offer.”

After some paperwork and legal talk that BJ was vehemently disinterested in, Laura, Katy, and the realtor BJ was beginning to suspect was a robot left.

Charlws turned to BJ. He lifted him clean off the floor. “Laurence Betelgeuse De- Shoggoth, you’re a genius!”

BJ looked down at his dangling sneakers and gulped. Charles was even more intimidating at eye-level.

“You sold me a house! God bless you, you sold me a house, you little angel!” 

As he loosened his grip BJ prepared to drop heavily to the floor, but instead he found himself pressed against Charles’ chest, still a couple of inches in the air.

“BJ, I am so proud of you,” Charles said gently. He set him down. “How did you do it?”

“Oh, I just told her a ghost story,” BJ shrugged. He paused for a beat, then asked, “You’re not mad, are you?”

“Mad?” Charles laid a hand on BJ’s shoulder. “I’m delighted! This is my largest commission since we moved here! And if I’m being honest Laura wasn’t all that sold until you spoke to her wife. You sealed the deal for me, son. I’ll get you anything you want; anything!”

“I want a vibrator!”

“Anything else.”

“Mm, fine. I want an ice cream sunday and a perm!”

“We can pick up Lydia and get the ice cream now, but I’m letting Delia take you for that perm. I’m not entirely sure you know what it is - Grab those cookies, BJ, and take them to the car - and I don’t want to be around if you decide you don’t like it.”

“That sounds fair,” BJ said as he took one last look around the house. “Hey Chuck?”

They climbed into the car.

“Yes?”

BJ pulled his seatbelt across his waist. “Am I overweight?”

“Mm, probably. But you’re happy, so it’s fine. And also very good at baseball. I don’t mean to sound surprised, you’re just astoundingly good at baseball.”

Charles started the car and BJ immediately turned his seat warmer on, despite it being seventy five outside.

“I just take all my anger out on the ball.” BJ crushed a cookie in his hand, then wiped the crumbs onto the floor. Not his problem. “Am I Jewish?”

“Are you-“ Charles glanced at BJ. “I don’t know, actually. We’ll have to ask the Maitlands. Would you like to be Jewish?”

BJ wasn’t entirely sure what being Jewish entailed, but he knew the holidays were longer and more frequent than twenty first century Christianity, and the history much more engaging. But they didn’t get to eat bread and drink alcohol at service.

“I’ll think on it. I want to learn Hebrew.”

“BJ, I mean this in the kindest way possible, but you can barely read English.”

“Pleeeeease can I learn Hebrew. I’ve been working so hard in school and I never ask for anything.”

“You ask me for a medieval hangman’s noose every day,” Charles pointed out.

“But you’ve never got me one! Please!”

“Alright,” Charles conceded. “You can learn Hebrew.”

“Yes!” BJ grinned like a Doberman with a chew toy. “! לחיות ,  לזיין ,  לשגשג ”

“What does that mean?”

“Live, fuck, prosper!” He said with pride. “It’s all the Hebrew I know.”

“Then you definitely, definitely need to learn more Hebrew!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Y’all wanna read about Charles stargazing with Lyds and HIS SON, or should I just get on with it? Because I never intended to write a segment like that, but now I’ve mentioned it it feels kinda Chekhov’s gun-ish, y’know?
> 
> (EDIT: there’s supposed to be another chapter between this one and the next, but I forgot to write it, so when it’s done I’ll upload it in the right place!)


	11. The Maitlands are back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally come back to add this chapter, hopefully in the right place!
> 
> Since the narrative seemed fine without it I didn't put too much effort in, it’s just a short bridge chapter.

BJ pressed his hands against the window, much to Delia’s chagrin. She’d only cleaned them last night, after Lydia had dared BJ to lick them and he’d actually done it. This is not what Delia had thought she was letting herself in for when she became a mother to teenagers.

“They’re gonna be late,” BJ said as he squashed his face against the glass between his hands.

“BJ,” Delia squeezed his shoulder, using the touch to gently pry him away from the window, “It’s two thirty, they’re right on time.”

“But by the time they ring the doorbell they’re going to be late.” He jumped off the couch and ran to the door, then called back to Delia, “They hate being late!”

The doorbell rang at two thirty one and BJ immediately threw it open. “You’re late!” He cried triumphantly.

“Hi BJ,” Adam smiled, accepting the choke-hold of a hug BJ thrust upon him. He unravelled himself, then clung equally hard to Barbara.

“So I take it you’re doing better than last time we saw you?” Barbara asked, stroking BJ’s hair and sharing a look with Delia.

“I love it here.” BJ ran to hold the door open for them. “You’re not here to take me away, are you?”

“Certainly not,” Delia interrupted hurriedly. “Just a routine visit.”

“Good, I don’t want to leave.” BJ led the way into the living room, then stood stiffly with his hands behind his back. “Would, uh, you like a drink?”

“Oh, how sweet of you.” Barbara ruffles his hair, raising an eyebrow at Adam. “A glass of water would be lovely, thank you.”

Charles walked into the living room, ending a call and slipping his phone into his pocket. “You stay here and chat, I’ll get it,” he told BJ.

Lydia practically sprinted into the room, beaming at the Maitlands. “Hi! It’s so nice to see you again!” She hugged them almost as enthusiastically as BJ had. The trio had grown strangely close, but as far as Lydia was concerned they were like second parents to her brother, so they could be like second parents to her, too.

They loved how Lydia had been towards BJ, even when he was wreaking havoc with the rest of the family.

“I have so much to tell you,” BJ furled and unfurled his fists, trying to do something about all the excitent burning inside of him. “I sold a house yesterday! Then ate two bowls of ice cream! Lydia was there!”

“I was! He did!” She grinned. “It was so impressive, they should’ve put his picture on the wall.”

“No, they should wait until I get a haircut.”

Charles re-entered the room carrying a tray of ice waters and BJ’s eyes lit up.

“Watch this: Charles can pick me up!” 

BJ narrowly avoided barging into Charles, who shifted the drinks tray onto one arm and scooped BJ up with the other. “See! How cool is that?”

Barbara stood and took the tray from Charles. “Let me help with that.”

BJ had already squirmed his way back down to the floor and was sifting through papers on the coffee table.

“Actually,” Charles said softly to Barbara, “We were wondering if you could help us with something?”

“Uh,” Barbara looked unsure.

“All good things, I promise.” He nodded towards the hallway and Delia followed them out. She turned back to look at BJ and Lydia, bombarding Adam with information.

“Look at my report card! I didn’t fail a single class! And I got an A plus in theatre! I’m going to graduate!”

“That’s brilliant B-“

“BJ pitched a baseball so hard it went through the fence!”

“It did; right through!”

“That’s, umm-“

“I’m going to baseball practise next week! I’m so excited!”

“I want to see what happens when he hits a kid that hard!”

“Tell me which kid you want me to hit, Lyds, I’ll hit ‘em!”

Delia turned back to the conversation she was suppose to be engaged in.

“How, uh, do you feel about adoption?” Charles posed the question awkwardly, looking anywhere but Barbara’s face.

“Well, it’s my job to get kids adopted, so I’d like to think pretty highly.”

“No, uh, I mean about us, adopting BJ.”

“Oh.” Barbara broke out into a huge grin. “Oh! Oh, do you mean it?”

“Absolutely,” Delia chimed in. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a handful-“

There was a crash from the living room, and the trio turned to see the coffee table slanting towards the floor, now sans one leg.

“Sorry I broke your table,” BJ said sheepishly. Then he spotted an old realty magazine he wanted to show Adam and the incident was all but forgotten about.

“Point made. But we love him.”

“We love him so much,” Charles added.

“And no matter how difficult it gets there isn’t a conceivable situation in which we’d ever send him back.”

Barbara looked on the verge of tears, but she held it together for the sake of professionalism. “Well, we need to set a hearing date, and of course we’ll need a statement from you, and from BJ, but I really don’t see any problems. There’s no one else waiting to foster him, and his parents are pretty much out of the picture.”

Charles grabbed Delia’s hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back. Their son - their wonderful, boisterous, brilliant son - was finally, actually going to be theirs. 

“Thank you,” Delia sighed. “Thank you for bringing this amazing young man into our lives.”

“I’m just so grateful you came along when you did.” Barbara watched with all the love of a mother as BJ listened to Adam’s story about wood-working. “We never would’ve left him out there on his own, but we also would never have had the time to spend with him like you do. I can’t believe how calm and confident he is.”

“Oh, he isn’t calm,” Charles chuckled. “But he’s very good at focusing all that chaotic energy. I can’t believe how quickly his reading improved since we got him those dyslexia overlays. The boy’s obsessed with Shakespeare.”

“Shakespeare?” BJ’s head whipped round. “What are we saying about Shakespeare? I love Shakespeare! Oh! Do you want to see the Lady MacBeth costume Lydia and I are making? I don’t care, I’m getting it anyway!”

As BJ and Lydia raced upstairs Barbara sat beside her husband to deliver the news in hushed, excited tones.

“Let’s not tell Lydia,” Delia said to Charles, “Until we know for certain. It’d break her heart if anything went wrong.”

“Nothing’s going to go wrong,” Charles said, pulling her into a hug. “He’s ours now; our son.”

Delia had always secretly enjoyed the idea of having a model family: two point five kids and a dog. Now she had a very fat raccoon living in the garden that Lydia wouldn’t stop feeding, and two almost-grown-up children. It was better than she ever could’ve imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	12. Stargazing with the fam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: have now gone back for spelling and grammar edits, but still majorly skimped on the quality, apologies. Not going to edit that right now though. 
> 
> Sorry for not replying to yesterday’s comments yet, I’m on mobile and it’s hard enough just to post a chapter! But I really appreciate them and will respond tomorrow!

The telescope was pointed at something, and that was good enough for Charles.

He settled back onto the beanbag to wait for his family.

“Did you find it? Did you find it?” Lydia practically threw herself through the window and launched herself at the telescope, almost knocking it off the roof. She peered through the lens. “Oh, it’s just black.”

Leaning back, she looked around for a place to sit. When she realised her dad had only brought a single seat up she sat down in front of him, then leaned back as if he were the beanbag. Charles grumbled a little, but let her.

“That’s infinity that you’re looking at,” Charles said, gesturing up into the only patch of starless sky. “Be grateful.”

“I’ll see infinity when I die, I can only see stars no-“

“I brought popcorn!” BJ tripped on the window ledge and landed face-first on the roof. He jumped up again. “I’m okay! But I ate all the popcorn on the way up.” An empty bowl was tossed back into the attic.

“So,” he sauntered over to the telescope, “Show me this awesome, giant ball of flaming gas I’m named after.”

“Dad couldn’t find it,” Lydia told him. “We’ll have to wait for Delia.”

“Is it pointed at anything?” BJ dropped down beside the telescope and pressed his eye into it. “This shit’s broken,” he moaned, “It’s all black.”

“Mind your language,” Charles scolded lightly. “And it’s not broken, that’s space.”

“Ooh, really? I’m so-orry, that makes it soo much more interesting.”

A grin spread across Charles’ face like a cartoon joker. “At least someone appreciates my physics expertise.”

“He’s being sarcastic, dad.”

“Yeah, I’m being sarcastic, Chuck.”

BJ sat down beside Lydia and flopped backwards.

Charles sighed. “You guys are too big for this, get your own seats.”

“You only brought one seat up,” they said in unison. Then they shared their signature look of chaos and leaned back with all the ease of a retail worker after an eight hour shift.

Charles sighed again, this time with a smile, and wrapped his arms around the pair of them. Despite the lack of telescope they could still see constellations dotted about the sky. Stars are so bold, he thought, that they could still be seen from hundreds of thousands of light years away. There was not a more perfect structure in the galaxy for his son to be named after.

“I love you both, you know that?” Charles whispered.

“Yes, dad. I love you too,” Lydia replied.

He kissed the top of her head and gave BJ’s shoulders a gentle squeeze; the traditional one-armed dad-hug. BJ said nothing.

“BJ,” Charles sat up a little, jostling the kids, “You know I love you, right?”

BJ got up. Without a word, and without looking up from the roof, and made his way back to the window. When he climbed through he almost bargued into Delia and her tray of hot chocolate.

“BJ-“ she started.

“God, you’re always in the way Delia, just fucking move,” he growled, even though he was at the top of the stairs by now. “You guys should just leave me alone.”

Lydia ran after him, but was stopped when a tray of hot chocolate was thrust into her arms. “I’d like to go, if that’s alright?” Delia said.

Lydia looked down at the tray, then at her dad, who was standing now and frowning into the distance. “Of course. Just-“

“Give him some time to cool off first?” Delia finished. “I know.”

She loitered by the window, watching as Lydia handed her dad a mug, then the pair sat down beside the telescope. Lydia started to explain how to spot constellations, something Delia had taught her but never even dreamed she’d actually listened to. Maybe Lydia had never truly hated her; maybe they’d both been just as scared of each other.

-

There was a knock on BJ’s door, accompanied by a, “Can I come in?”

BJ rolled onto his back and wiped his face, then sniffed, “You can come in, but I don’t need you to come in.”

Delia crept around the door then hovered by the bed. BJ sat himself up. “You can sit.”

She did. BJ grabbed her hand and put it in his hair. “Do the thing.”

Delia ran he fingers through his hair. “Have you been colouring your hair in with highlighter again?”

“No,” BJ humphed.

“Then why are your tips green?” Delia smiled.

“I let Lydia colour my hair with highlighter,” BJ said, forcing himself not to grin.

“You know, we can dye it if you want. I don’t understand why you’d want green hair, but you’d certainly suit it.”

BJ desperately wanted to dye his hair green, but he didn’t say anything. Any moment now Delia was going to ask him what was wrong, and he didn’t want to tell her. But if he didn’t tell her he’d just get angry, and agitated, and then things would go back to the way they were when he first moved in.

So he had to tell her.

But he didn’t want to.

“BJ-“

“Ugh, here we go.”

“Do you want to tell me why you’re upset?” Delia swept his hair back and kissed his forehead. It was so maternal. So sweet. He couldn’t bare it.

“You guys don’t know what you’re talking about,” BJ snapped. “Okay? You think you know, but you don’t. You don’t know shit. Any of you. Except Lydia.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you think you love me but you don’t.”

“How can you say-“

“Shut up!” BJ yelled. He pushed himself away from Delia, hugging his arms around his body. “I’m sorry, I, I didn’t mean that.”

“It’s alright,” Delia said in a firm, yet warm, voice. “Please, just tell me what’s going on.”

“Look, this isn’t he first time I’ve been here.” Delia frowned. “Metaphorically here. Parents say they love you, and you’re part of the family, and they’ll never give you up. But I’m here now, like, physically, so obviously they lied.

“I don’t mind that you guys aren’t going to adopt me, but I’d rather you didn’t lie about it, like everyone else. I’m too old for that now.”

BJ had stopped getting hopeful about adoption years ago. Even if a family, for some reason, happened to like him they always gave him back in the end. No matter how many times they said ‘I love you,’ no matter the promises they made, they never, ever wanted him to stay. He’d only ever been loved conditionally.

Delia was quiet for a long time. A really long time. BJ was getting ready to run and find himself a new room to mope in, when she reached out and took his hand.

“BJ,” her voice wavered, “BJ, sweetie, I don’t want to make you any promises we can’t keep. But I promise we have absolutely no plans to send you anywhere. When we say we love it’s because we love you. You’re part of our family.”

“Are you part of the family?” BJ bit back.

“Of course,” Delia replied. “Now usually I’d hesitate when someone asks me that. It’s always been Charles and Lydia, then me: the step-mom. But recently-“ She moved closer to BJ. He let her. “Things have felt different. We started fostering this wonderful, bright, creative young man,” she threw an arm around BJ’s shoulders and he allowed himself to relax against her side, “And he made us feel like a family. This is only my family because it’s yours.”

“I’m not crying,” BJ lied.

“Of course not. Do you want to come back outside? Or do you need some time alone?”

“Actually,” BJ grabbed Delia’s arm as she started to get up, “I want to say something else. I don’t expect you to adopt me. It’s expensive, and I was such a little shit when I moved in it’s too much to ask. I don’t want you to think I’m upset because I’m ungrateful.

“I’m upset because, be-because-“ BJ pressed his sleeves under his eyes, soaking up the tears, “Because I don’t want to love you guys as much as I do. That only makes it hurt more when I have to leave. And when you say nice things to me, like that you love me back, it hurts even more. 

“I don’t expect you to adopt me. I just expect to get hurt, and it’s scary.”

“Sweetie.” Delia took BJ by the shoulders and wrestled him into a firm hug. “I don’t think you understand what I’m saying. We want to adopt you. Please, please expect to be adopted. I just can’t promise that it’ll be soon. Or even that it’ll be before you turn eighteen. But we’re never, ever going to send you back into the system.”

Delia was ready to pull away from the hug, but BJ wasn’t. He gripped her tightly. “Don’t you want a different kid? A-a better kid?”

“A better kid?” Delia scoffed. “BJ, you’re the best friend Lydia’s ever had. You’re the funniest, most imaginative person to hang out with. You’re interested in Charles’ work, though God knows why; you’re the only one. You’re a little baseball star, and you’re so, so smart, and such a lovely kid; when you put the effort in.

“I know you can be sharp and angry, but that’s to be expected when you have kids. Lydia can be like that too, but we still love her so much.

“BJ, you’re just a normal kid. And, like any normal kid, you’re incredible.”

BJ backed out of the hug. He smiled sheepishly and dried his face. “That’s too many compliments, I need to go back to the emotional constipation of the roof.”

“Okay,” Delia chuckled. “You alright?”

“You said a lot of stuff that I want to think about... and cry about, later. But I want my hot chocolate to be hot, and I wanna see myself in an alternate universe where I’m a giant ball of fire.”

“I’ll find Betelgeuse for you, Charles is hopeless at reading stars. And maps. I’m surprised he’s made it this far in life without being able to navigate by the stars.”

Before following Delia back to the roof BJ grabbed the Little Monster from his bed and hugged it to his chest. “People who don’t join cults don’t need to map-read the sky,” he said.

“I did not join... more than one cult,” Delia conceded.

When they emerged onto the roof Charles and Lydia were still sat at the base of the telescope, looking at the moon. Lydia was making a very convincing argument for why she thought the moon was haunted.

“Hey Lydia,” BJ yelled out to her. “You’re my favourite person in the world and I love you.”

She paused her argument. “I’m so glad you’re my brother, I love you too,” she shouted.

“Why don’t you just go over there?” Delia asked.

“It’s a sibling thing. Gotta yell.”

BJ crossed the roof and stood at Charles’ shoulder. “Charles,” he said robotically, “You are... a dad.” He then gave a firm nod.

“That all?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay.” Charles grabbed BJ by the waist and pulled him down.

“Aah, ha ha, hey!”

“I’m sorry if I upset you.” Charles hugged him lightly. “I just wanted you to know how much I care about you.”

“It’s okay. It was my problem, not yours.” 

“Your problems are our problems. You’re our son, that’s how it works.” He released BJ, who turned right back around and dove in for a proper hug.

“Does this mean I can get a hangman’s noose?”

“No.”

“Then can I have a hot chocolate?”

Charles passed him a still-warm mug.

They gathered around Delia’s book of constellations as she flipped through the pages and told them about her three day solo trek across the desert.

Lydia climbed on BJ’s shoulders and held the telescope up to get a better look at the moon ghosts. Charles told her to get down or they’d both fall off the roof.

They watched as the rest of the village went to sleep, and for once BJ didn’t have to imagine their cozy family dynamics with jealousy; he had his own.

When it became so early the closest star began to warm the sky they packed up the telescope and headed inside. Lydia told BJ that tomorrow they’d start work on a play about a haunted moon; he couldn’t wait. Charles ruffled his hair and wished him goodnight, and told him once again how amazingly proud he was of the job he’d done yesterday. Delia kisses him on the top of the head and told him not to stay up too late thinking.

BJ tucked the Little Monster into bed beside him and flopped down onto the mattress. He thought that he loved living here. He thought that he wanted to stay here forever. He thought that there was no one and nothing on earth that could make him leave.

And then he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	13. BJ, Lydia, and Delia go shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realised I totally meant to write another chapter before the last one, an Adam and Barbara chapter, but I totally forgot! Sorry about that! I know I’m not writing an actual narrative, but it would’ve made the last chapter make a little more sense! Will go back and add it in later!

BJ froze. It was horrible. Unwearable. The stupidest item of clothing he’d ever seen in his life.

He had to have it.

A black and white striped suit. Not pinstriped. Not zebra striped. Not even patterned with piano. A white suit simply striped with black. BJ wanted it desperately, but of course it was far too ugly for anyone to even think about buying it for him.

He decided he would no longer be a babysitter when he left school, but would instead become a pro baseball player so that he could come back and buy this suit.

“Hey.”

BJ started as Delia put a hand on his shoulder. “Do you want that?”

“Expensive.”

“It’s okay, we haven’t even bought you any clothes yet, and you’ve been living with us for months. We thought you had plenty, but you seem to wear the same things all the time.”

BJ did have bag loads of clothes, but that was only because he’d never had the liberty of being able to get rid of clothes that no longer fit him. When he got really desperate he’d cut up shirts from middle school to make into new clothes. So although it seemed like he had a lot of clothes very few of them were appropriate for a seventeen year old.

“When’s the last time you got new clothes?” Lydia asked. BJ knew that she knew the answer, but she was putting on a charade so that Delia would buy him the suit. He really did love her.

“When I was fourteen. I haven’t really got taller though, I just keep putting more gel in my hair.” BJ paused to allow Delia to feel suitably bad for him. “It’s not so nice wearing clothes I’m too chubby for, though.”

BJ had spent most of his life being prickly about his weight - people were mean, but he knew how to be meaner - but the Deetzes had never made it an issue. He was allowed to eat whatever he wanted, provided he ate whatever Charles gave him first, and they never forced him to exercise.

They had once let him eat six boxes of chocolate for dinner, because he wouldn’t stop crying that he didn’t want chilli. Since he’d spent the following three days throwing up he’d come to his own conclusion that he never wanted to consume that much sugar again.

Delia had even told him that if anyone at school made fun of his weight he had her full permission to punch them in the nose. BJ appreciated the sentiment, but didn’t think Delia would much be good at preventing the principal from suspending him.

“Sweetie, you should’ve told us,” Delia said, ruffling his hair. “Come on, we’ll buy you some new clothes right now.”

“But we only came to the mall for a phone charger.”

“Nonsense.” Delia ushered them into the store. “I’ll buy you anything you want. Anythi-“

“A vibrator!”

Several innocent shoppers turned to give Delia the ‘you’re-a-bad-parent’ stare.

“Anything but a vibrator. Clothes, BJ, we’re buying clothes.”

“Oh, can I pick them?” Lydia begged. “Please? I promise I won’t make him look like a corpse. Unless...” She side eyed BJ. He shook his head rapidly. “Fine, then no corpse clothes.”

Delia considered Lydia’s dress. It was white, she’d give her that, but also completely covered in skull-shaped lace. “Alright, alright. You two to pick out some clothes.”

She grabbed BJ before he could run off and placed her hands on his shoulders, holding him in place. “BJ, you’re a smart, handsome young man. Anything you choose you’ll look lovely in. But you have such... suuuch... unique tase. Please pick out some school-appropriate clothing.”

“Yeah,” BJ hummed, eyeing a tie-dye shirt with a picture of marijuana on it. “Sure thing.”

Delia dismissed them to go browse Connecticut’s trashiest clothes store. BJ and Lydia immediately grabbed for the same marijuana shirt.

“It’s perfect, right?” Lydia gushed. “And so colourful; totally you!”

BJ grabbed five. “I, I don’t know what size I need.”

Lydia took the shirts from BJ and held them up against his chest, one by one. “One of these two,” she decided, putting the rest back. “Depends if you want it to fit perfectly or be kinda big.”

BJ took the larger one. “I like looking like a beanbag. And I plan on eating a shitton at Hanukkah.”

“But it’s months until Hanukkah,” Lydia laughed.

“Lyds, I’ve decided every day is Hanukkah.  בצק ,  כלבות !”

“I don’t know what that means, but I love it!” Lydia snatched up BJ’s arm and dragged him across the store. “Y’know what I love even more?” She dropped to one knee and pointed dramatically at the display. “Glow in the dark ghost shirts.”

“Glow in the dark ghost shirts!” BJ snatched on of each design and piled them over his arm. “What else?”

“Oh,” Lydia smirked, “Just you wait!”

They took a conductor’s hat from the dress-up section. A pair of women’s green jeans. Purple shirts, in every single shade of purple. A bow-tie shaped like a bat. A red, frilled waistcoat. A green checked shirt so large rolling the sleeves up was a necessity, rather than a fashion choice.

BJ picked out shoes he could see his reflection in that boasted about being made out of plastic. Boots so chunky they acted like platforms. Slippers with pink dog faces on them.

Lydia piled spray-on hair dye, glow-in-the-dark eye shadow, and a pair of novelty vampire teeth into a basket. She collected socks patterned with bugs, stars, items you’d find in a cartoon trash can.

When a lady took the last pair of bright green suspenders Lydia and BJ trailed around the store after her until they seized the perfect moment to steal them from her basket.

Then they collected Delia and sent BJ to try some clothes on. 

He paired green pants with a yellow shirt and red ballroom shoes.

A ghost t-shirt with chequered purple pants and green suspenders.

A pink velvet tracksuit and knock-off Doc Martins.

Delia tried not to cringe. BJ’s fashion sense was terrible, and Lydia only encouraged him, but he looked so happy, and confident, and comfortable. She never, ever wanted to say anything that would wipe that silly, childish grin off BJ’s face.

In the dressing room BJ fixed the final piece to his final outfit around his neck: striped suit, shiny black shoes, purple shirt, hat bow-tie. He’d wear this to prom, he decided. No; he’d wear this when he got married.

When stepped back out into the shop he thought he’d given Delia a heart attack. She gasped loudly then made a sound like she was crying, reaching out to touch BJ’s cheek.

“Oh,” she sighed tearfully. “Oh BJ, sweetie, don’t you look handsome.” She rubbed his collar between her fingers. “Did Lydia pick this out?”

“Yup.”

“Oh Lydia, it’s gorgeous.” Blindly she reached a hand out to grab Lydia, who moved just out of arm’s reach. So instead Delia hauled BJ over to her and pulled them both into a hug. They resisted playfully.

“Delia, not in public!” Lydia squirmed.

“I just love you both so much. I’m so, so proud of you.”

“Jeez mom, come on,” BJ laughed, wriggling out of her grasp and straightening out his suit.

Delia started at him.

“What?”

A grin split her face like an earthquake splits the ground.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head with a soft smile. “Go on, go get changed and we’ll go pay.”

“Wait, you mean I can actually have all this stuff?” BJ gaped. He wouldn’t have to make himself a franken-shirt for, well, ever again!

“Of course. We promised to take care of you; if I’d known you needed new clothes we would’ve done this sooner.”

BJ threw his arms around Delia. “You’re a really good mom.” He quickly released her, flushing and rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, I know you’re not my mom, you’re Lydia’s mom, kind of mom, but you’re a really good mom to her, and you’re good to me, you’re just not my mom-“

“BJ,” she stopped his ramble, “I’m not trying to be your mom, don’t worry. I’ll be whatever you need me to be. Just like I hope I’m doing for Lydia.”

She looked to Lydia for confirmation.

Lydia nodded.

“I don’t know if I want a mom,” BJ admitted. “I’ve only ever had one, and that was a huge disappointment.”

“Take your time with it,” Delia said gently. “I’ll be here for the rest of your life.”

-

At the check out a red-faced lady was rudely explaining to a defenceless cashier that these were not all of her items, and something had been stolen from her basket. Lydia and BJ sniggered, trying not to draw too much attention to themselves.

The lady turned anyway. “Those kids!” She pointed an accusatory finger. “They wété following me around the store. I bet-“ She caught sight of the suspenders being packed into a bag. “Them! They took my stuff!”

“Excuse me madam.” Delia swing round to look her straight in the eye. “Are you accusing my sweet, sweet children of stealing from you?”

BJ and Lydia tried desperately to look like these ‘sweet, sweet’ children Delia spoke of. 

“Yes! I am!”

“Well then, I guess we’re just going to have to RUN!” At lightening speed Delia grabbed the bags, shoved one each at BJ and Lydia, yanked on their wrists, and fled from the store.

They didn’t stop until they’d safely reached one of the many gumball circles. They were laughing; Delia so hard that she was crying.

Finally she straightened up and they headed to the car. Lydia tapped her lightly on the shoulder. “Uh, Delia? I’m really glad my dad married you. I’m sorry I tried so hard to scare you away.”

“That’s alright. I’m really glad I married your father too, because I got to become a part of this wonderful family. Anyway, it takes more than a teenage girl to scare me away from a free place to live.”

“Technically my dad used to pay you to stay with us,” Lydia smirked.

“Oh god, am I prostitute? A really classy, well-treated prostitue?”

“Yes!” BJ declared loudly. “What’s the context?”

People were giving Delia that ‘you’re-a-bad-parent’ stare again. She didn’t care.

“Well, when I first met Lydia I was suppose to be her life coach...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I’m going to write the next chapter, well, next, because it’s not that long and I’m really excited to write about everyone watching BJ play baseball! They’re all so proud of him! And then, in true titular fashion, shit’s gonna hit the fan! But then I’ll go back and write the chapter with the Maitlands!
> 
> Oh, btw, the Hebrew says ‘Dough, bitches!’ as in pastry dough, not money.


	14. BJ plays baseball and he’s Good

“And then you need to burn some sage-“

Lydia clamped a hand over Delia’s mouth. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m definitely listening. But BJ’s batting and I’m not missing this.”

Charles had recently enrolled BJ in the second most prestigious baseball club in the area. The first most prestigious baseball club expected its members to be able to catch, which wasn’t exactly BJ’s forte. But he could bat like a professional and throw with pin-point precision.

This was BJ’s first game, and even the Maitlands were here to support him. He hadn’t talked about anything else for the past three weeks, and had asked Delia for the iron three times so he could smarten up his uniform.

They watched as BJ stepped up to the plate, then ignored the pitcher and waved at them. “Hey!” He yelled. “Watch me bat!”

The pitcher threw, hoping to catch BJ off-guard. He swung and hit the ball way out into mid-field.

“Sucker!” BJ grinned triumphantly. “You little shit! Thought you’d catch me out? Did you see that? Did you fucking see?”

“Run, BJ!” Lydia screamed. “Run! Run!”

The rest of his team quickly chimed in, “Damnit, BJ!”

“Run!”

“That’s a home run hit; take it!”

With the shouts finally hitting home BJ took off, racing around the bases. He wasn’t particularly fast, but with a hit like that he didn’t have to be. He slid into home with half a second to spare and his team went wild; that was their first home run of the day.

“Yes!” BJ yelled to the sky. “I’m the fucking best at baseball!”

“At least he’s confident,” Barbara shrugged with a small smile.

“Look at him, Barab.” Adam threw one arm around his wife and the other around a grinning Lydia. “He’s having the time of his life out there. You guys are the best thing that’s ever happened to him.”

“He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to us,” Lydia corrected him, watching as BJ exchanged borderline vicious high-five’s with his teammates.

After several people Lydia did not care about came up to bat the teams swapped. BJ was sent way out into right field, which he didn’t complain about. He was aware of the fact that he couldn’t catch, and didn’t enjoy running after the ball anyway.

Lydia cheered enthusiastically for his team anyway, while BJ pulled funny faces at her from across the field. Then a girl stepped up to bat and suddenly BJ’s whole demeanour changed. He made a ‘one moment please’ gesture at Lydia, squared his shoulders, adjusted his stance, and held his glove up.

The ball was pitched.

The girl swung.

The ball flew out into right field.

BJ stood on his tiptoes and caught it.

The girl had made it to first base by this point, but BJ’s team took great pleasure in telling her she was out.

“Did-did he just catch that?” Adam asked. “Did BJ just catch a ball?”

“Our BJ?” Delia chimed in. “Caught something without dropping it?”

“Yeah,” Lydia beamed. “I taught him that! We practised every day!”

“Is that why you broke my lamp?” Charles asked.

“It was raining,” Lydia explained matter-of-factory. “We couldn’t have gone outside; you know how mopey BJ gets in the rain.”

Adam’s phone began to ring before Charles could get too annoyed. He mumbled some apologies about how it should be on silent, before he saw the number. “Oh, uh, I have to take this, sorry.” He sidestepped past everyone and down from the bleachers.

BJ, satisfied with a single fielding triumph, was back to yelling at Lydia across the pitch. “Where’s Adam going?” He called. “He said he’d watch me play baseball! Liar!”

“He’s on the phone,” Lydia yelled back.

“What?”

“He’s on! The phone!”

A glove hit BJ in the chest, accompanied by a shout of, “Concentrate!”

He hurled the glove back and forced himself to stare at the batter, but after a couple of hits he went back to gazing up at the sky and digging a hole in the pitch with his heel.

Lydia continued to watch the game, but now she gave a distracted glance to Adam every few minutes. He had an important job. He had a lot of kids to manage. This probably wasn’t anything to do with them.

The thought comforted Lydia, until in one of her worried glances she caught Adam giving her a worried glance in return. Quickly she averted her eyes back to the baseball pitch.

Adam climbed tentatively back onto the bleachers, then leant down to whisper something to his wife. Her eyes widened. She looked at Lydia, who was trying her absolute hardest to appear inconspicuous, then at BJ, doubled over with laughter as he tried to tell his nearest teammate a joke. She looked at Charles and Delia, who were glancing back, eyes all white like a startled deer’s.

“Wha-“ Delia started to ask, but Barbara cut her off.

“BJ’s mom wants him back.” She clasped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to be so rash, it’s just-“

“What?” Lydia murmured under her breath.

“That was someone from management,” Adam said solemnly. “They’ve already gone through all the precautionary checks. She’s sober and has her own place. She has a job with steady income. She wants her son back.”

“That is not her son, that is our son!” Delia exploded, jumping up. She took a calming breath and reseated herself. “Sorry, I’m sorry. But you can’t just give BJ back to that horrible, horrible woman! You’ve read his file, you know what she’s like!”

Adam hovered awkwardly around the walkway, wringing his hands. “I know, I do know. But there’s nothing we an do about it. If she keeps up with the visitations scheduled-“

“You’ve scheduled visitations?” Lydia demanded. “We haven’t even talked about this! How do you know that’s what BJ wants?”

“O-oh, uh, honey,” Barbara put a hand on Lydia’s shoulder, “BJ doesn’t really get a say in this. Nobody does, except BJ’s mom and the judge.”

“But this isn’t fair!” She grabbed hold of her dad’s sleeve. “Dad! This isn’t fair!”

Charles took a moment before replying. His emotions were carefully concealed behind a mask. “Lydia, I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do about this. But it’s going to be tough for BJ, so we’re going to have to be supportive.”

“I don’t support this!” Lydia yelled. “It’s not right!”

The baseball game had broken up and BJ was running over to the bleachers. “I’m going to get a hot dog,” he called. “The cheap, gross ones. With the team. It only costs a dollar.” He stood beneath the bleachers and looked up. “Is that okay?”

“Actually BJ, we have something important to tell you,” Adam told him. “Can you come up here for a minute? Then I promise you can go get a... a gross one dollar hot dog with your team.”

BJ stood still, frowning in a slightly dazed manner, so Charles reached down and grabbed him by the ribs, lifting him onto the bleachers. “This is important BJ, pay attention,” he said softly.

Lydia grabbed her dad’s arm again. “Stop,” she begged. “Don’t do this! It’s wrong!”

Delia took Lydia by the hand, very much against her will. “Uh, maybe we should-“ She gestured into the distance.

“I’ll take her,” Charles said, forcibly guiding Lydia down from bleachers. She turned desperately to stare back at BJ. He could only offer her a confused look.

As Lydia was dragged away she watched the Maitlands sit BJ down. Delia put an arm around him and Adam crouched in front of him.

Charles halted when they were a safe distance away. Lydia turned on him. “What are you doing? You can’t seriously give BJ back!”

Charles sighed. He stroked Lydia’s hair. “We didn’t choose this-“

“But you’re still letting it happen!”

“We don’t get a say in this, Lydia, you know that I’d never give BJ up. I hate this as much as you do.”

“You don’t understand,” Lydia cried, curling her hands into fists. “I, I can’t loose anyone else.” She stared up at Charles, waiting for his mask to crack. “I can’t.”

Charles’ shoulders dropped. He hugged his daughter to his chest. “We’re not losing him,” he whispered. “He’s just going home.”

“But his home’s with us! We can’t let him go back to that woman! Dad, just, just do something!” She pushed herself away from him, crying silently. “Please!”

“Lydia,” Charles said gently. “If you could live with Emily again, if our family could go back to the way it was, wouldn’t you want that?”

Lydia wanted to scream that she didn’t, but that would be a lie and her dad knew it. She’d do anything in the world to have her mom back, and that’s what BJ was getting. Maybe his mom hadn’t been the perfect maternal figure like Lydia’s had, but did it matter? He had the chance to get what Lydia dreamed about every day; how could she deny him that?

“I just don’t want him to go,” she said in a small voice.

“Me neither. I love that boy. But we have to think about what BJ wants.”

Charles stepped to the side so Lydia could see the bleachers. BJ was grinning ear to ear, jumping up and down, and madly hugging anyone he could get his hands on - even a few startled parents. This is what he’d always wanted. This is what he’d been promised, and waited twelve years to finally get.

Lydia tried to be happy for him. She tried to smile. But her world was rapidly unravelling before her eyes - again.

“Why,” she whispered through tears, “Does everyone keep leaving me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I so want to finish the before I start uni, because I just got myself an unpaid-but-totally-worth-it uni job and I can’t wait! You are now reading a piece of trash that was written by AN ASSISTANT DIRECTOR. Hell yeah!!! But basically I hope to and want to keep updating quickly!


	15. One whole-ass sad chat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally went back and added the real chapter 11 with the Maitlands in!

Charles paced back and forth across the living room. Delia was talking at him, trying to get him to sit down, but he couldn’t stay still. He was fuelled by nervous energy. Between his terse argument with Lydia and the prospect of losing BJ his day was plummeting rapidly downhill.

“There has to be something we can do,” he grumbled for the fourth time. He couldn’t lose his son. Lydia couldn’t lose her brother.

“We’re so, so sorry,” Barbara said, also for the fourth time. “But there’s really nothing to be done. She’s his mother, Charles, if she wants her son and she’s capable of looking after him we have to let him stay with her.”

“Or make him stay with her,” Charles bit. “Doesn’t it matter what BJ wants?”

“I think,” Adam stood, but was almost ploughed over by Charles, so sat down again, “BJ wants to go.”

“Oh, BJ doesn’t know what he wants! He ate a bug last week, and it wasn’t even by accident!”

Charles finally halted. In front of him, hung wonkily on the wall, was a photo of BJ and Lydia dressed as Mr Hyde and Dr Jekyll for Halloween. He closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry. But I’ve heard what this woman is like, I can’t have her hurting my son again.”

Barbara approached him and gingerly touched his shoulder. “Charles, he’s Juno’s son. And she’s changed. She wants to look after her child.”

They were all silent. Upstairs Lydia and BJ were having some sort of argument. Charles thought he should check on them, but he’d hate to have to scold Lydia for voicing what he was thinking. They could sort things out for themselves; they never argued for long.

He sat down.

Delia raised her hand slightly, as if answering a question in a classroom, then folded it back on her lap. “Does she know how to dye BJ’s hair?”

“What?”

“Well, his tips are going to grow out soon, she’ll need to dye them green again for him. Does she know how?”

“Well, uh-“ Barbara started.

“And does she know how to make mac and cheese the way he likes it? I mean, I don’t, but Charles does. It has to have beef in it; he doesn’t eat pork anymore.

“Does she know what to say when he’s feeling bad about his weight? He can be so touchy, you have to get it just right or he’ll feel even worse.

“Does she have cable?

“Does she know which candles he’s allergic to?

“Can she use his inhaler?

“Does, does...”

She started to cry. “That’s my son. She’s taking away my son.”

“We know it’s hard,” Adam said softly.

“We really do,” Barbara continued. “We’ve done this before. But it’s hard on BJ too. He might feel excited, but it’s also another huge change for him. You remember what it was like when he first came to live with you.”

“He’s going to be stressed and nervous and emotional, especially with the upcoming visitations.” Adam placed a hand on Delia’s back. “He really needs you to support him.”

“We will.” Delia dried her eyes and straightened up. “Of course we will.”

“But if anything changes, and I mean anything,” Charles said, “I want you to know we’d keep that kid in a heartbeat.”

“We know,” Barbara looked sadly over at her husband.

“We know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I was going to add Lydia and Beej’s convo in this chapter too, but since I’m going to sleep I figured you may as well just have it in two parts. It’s no problem and makes the update quicker. So yeah, next chap is BJ and Lydia hashing it out, then we can meet human Juno!


	16. Another whole-ass sad chat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a very short chapter about what Lyds and Beej are doing while the grown ups chat. Then I’ll get onto what you actually want to read about, hopefully later today!

BJ was an idiot.

This was a thought Lydia had had several times before, but usually in a loving, goofy context. Now she was starting to think he was a genuine idiot. Why would he ever want to go back to live with the woman who abandoned him, when Lydia’s family adored him? Nowhere was better for him than here.

Lydia was sat on BJ’s bed, watching as he packed things into a suitcase. “You’re not moving out now, you know,” she said icily.

“I know.” BJ couldn’t stop grinning. “There’s just so much stuff I want to show my mom!”

“She’s not your mom!” Lydia cried. BJ’s grin faltered. “Your mom is the person who brushes your hair, and gives you life advice, and drives you to the beach even though it’s the middle of the night, just because you like it when the water looks like tar. Would your mom do that?”

“I don’t give a shit about the beach.” BJ had stopped packing now and was instead knelt on the floor, glowering up at Lydia. “I can get life advice from the school councillor. And I can brush my own hair. Stop trying to ruin this for me, just because your mom’s never coming back.”

“Aah!” Lydia wanted to grab him and... and... and hug him so tight he could never leave. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she yelled. “You have a mom! Delia’s your mom!”

“Delia isn’t even your mom!” BJ shouted back.

Lydia took a moment. She didn’t know how to respond. He was right, she didn’t think of Delia as her mom. But she didn’t not think of Delia as her mom. Emily would always, always be her mom. But Delia brushed her hair, and gave her life advice, and even agreed to take her to the beach in the middle of the night, like her mother had.

Maybe Lydia didn’t called Delia mom, but she acknowledged that she was her mother now. Anyone who tried as hard as Delia deserved that much.

“Yes she is,” Lydia finally admitted. “And maybe that isn’t how I wanted things to be, but that’s how they are and I’ve accepted it. Why can’t you?”

“Because I still have a mom, and it’s not Delia.” BJ’s shoulders slumped. “Look, I do love her. I do love you guys. But I just want my mom back. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Don’t you remember why they took you away?” Lydia asked. BJ refused to answer. “She got drunk and left you outside to freeze to death. Do you want to live with a woman like that?”

“No,” BJ stressed, “I don’t. And I don’t have to. She went to rehab. Twice! And, and she actually wants me now.”

“We want you!”

“You’re not my family!” BJ shouted. “Okay? No matter how hard you all try, no matter how nice you are, you’re never going to be my real family. She’s my real family.”

“Stop saying that word like you know what it means,” Lydia hissed, rising from the bed. Now, for the first time ever, she towered over BJ. “I don’t want to talk to you anymore; I’m going.”

She slammed BJ’s door on the way out. The second it closed she broke down in tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	17. BJ finally sees his mom again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One step closer to getting this baby in chronological order!

BJ sat in the back of the Maitlands’ car, suitcase clutched to his chest. He told himself, over and over, that he wasn’t nervous. This was his mom. His real mom. There was no need to be nervous.

But it had been twelve years. Maybe his mom wouldn’t have changed much, but he hadn’t had much choice in the matter. He was practically an adult, and the last time she’d seen him he’d been barely more than a toddler. Sure, he was still loud, chubby, and would do anything for a cookie, but now he was hardworking, in control of his emotions, and Jewish. He supposed he’d always been Jewish, only now he was actually aware of the fact.

What if she decided she didn’t actually want him back? What if - and this wasn’t even a big if - she thought he was a disappointment?

“BJ,” Barbara turned round to smile at him, “Are you alright? You can’t keep still back there.”

“Sorry.” BJ clasped his hands together and stopped bouncing his leg. “I’m a little bit nervous.”

“Don’t worry about it. And there’s no need to be nervous.” They pulled into a car park across the street from the cafe Juno had agreed to meet them in. “Adam and I will be right here the whole time, and if you ever feel uncomfortable you can come right back out here, no need to explain anything.”

BJ opened the door, careful not to dent the neighbouring car, and placed his suitcase on the floor. “Thanks. And, uh, I love you guys.”

“Aww, we love you too,” Adam smiled. “Now go have fun, buddy.”

BJ scooped up his suitcase again, forgetting that it had wheels, and ran to the side of the road. He stopped himself right before stepping out into it and walked three steps to the crossing.

The cafe looked clean and presentable from the outside, which was more than BJ could say for the places they’d frequent when he was young. When he stepped inside no one offered to sell him crack cocaine. A pleasant surprise.

BJ scanned the cafe, squeezing his suitcase tighter than he thought it would like to squeezed.

Suddenly he was hit with the idea that she might have not showed up. For some reason it calmed him a little. He could go home and watch a John Mulaney show with Lydia. He could talk to Delia while she painted. He could bake pot-free brownies with Charles, then get lovingly told off for eating too much of the batter.

Then he spotted a familiar pile of hair.

His heart skipped, but it felt more like terror than excitement.

“Mom!” He weaved his way through the cafe. “Mom, I, I’m just so happy!” Dropping his suitcase, he leaned down and hugged her.

Juno patted his shoulder with a bony hand and BJ almost melted.

“Laurence. Let me look at you.” She shoved him backwards and gave him a critical once over. “Mm, nothing’s changed.”

“Really?” BJ sat down opposite his mom. She pushed his elbows off the table. “I think I’m at least a lot bigger.”

She considered him again. “Yes, I always warned you about that. I guess you didn’t listen. You get it from your father.”

“Did you know dad was Jewish?” BJ asked excitedly, choosing to ignore what he thought was a jab at his weight. “I asked Adam and Barbara about it. I want to go to temple and study Judaism. I even have a temple outfit; I brought it to show you!” He unzipped the suitcase and pulled out a smart red suit and yarmulke. “Isn’t it nice? Charles thought it would look weird, with my hair being green, but he said it actually looks very smart once I have it on.”

BJ finally stopped to take a breath, allowing Juno to respond to anything he’d just said.

“Can we get some coffee?”

“When I first moved to my last home Lydia and I drank, like, ten coffees, then painted the shed stripy purple and green and now Delia says I probably shouldn’t drink coffee. It makes my heart do crazy shit, and I just can’t stop bouncing my leg.” He realised he was bouncing his leg on the chair bar anyway and promptly stopped. “But I’ll go get you some coffee!”

Once BJ had the coffee he dithered over what to put in it. His mom had always taken her coffee with brandy and a cigarette, but he didn’t think the cafe would allow either of those things. He substituted the brandy for creamer and the cigarette for a sugar cube, then returned to the table.

“So, what have you been doing for the past twelve years?”

Juno took a long sip of coffee. BJ clasped his hands on the table top and leaned forward. Juno started to put her cup down, then reconsidered and took another sip.

“Nothing much,” she said eventually. “Rehab. Mediocre government work that made me want to drink. More rehab. And now we’re here.”

BJ waited for a punchline. There wasn’t one. “Alright. Don’t you want to know what I’ve been doing?”

Juno’s eyes said ‘no,’ but her lips muttered, “I suppose.”

“Well, after they ruthlessly tore me from your arms-“

“It didn’t happen like that. I left you on the doorstep.”

“Right. I went to sooo many foster home. My case workers were always bastards, and most of the families were shitty. None of them were great like you, mom. Well, apart from the family I’m with now. And my case workers!

“Adam and Barbara are the best, they always took me away from families when I was unhappy, and they even let me stay at their house sometimes. They’re kinda stiffs, but they’re the nicest people I’ve ever met; ever!

“Charles is just, like, this stoic dad-guy. He’s a realtor, and he thinks I’m really smart-“

“Why?”

“Because I’m really smart now!” BJ fished a piece of paper from his suitcase. “Look at my school report!”

Juno perched her spectacles on her nose and peered down at it. “Where are the As?”

“Well, I’m not a great reader. And I don’t concentrate well. And I really don’t give a shit about maths.”

“Hmm.” She looked at his report again. “At least you’re not stupid.”

“Anyway, I love Charles. He’s a great cook, too. I even ate a celery because of him!

“And he’s married to this super cool New Yorker called Delia. She’s such a great mom, and she doesn’t even have any real kids. She makes all this scary art, and she sits on my bed to say goodnight to me every night. Her life’s kind of a mess but she’s so positive anyway. I love that lady so much.

“And! And this is the best bit! I have a little sister! Her name’s Lydia and she’s the coolest person in the world. She’s really nice to me at school, and she helps with my homework, and we cause so much shit together! We wrote a play about the moon once, and sometimes we do midnight performances of Shakespeare in the yard. Charles and Delia don’t know about those. It’s pretty great.”

Juno gave a solitary nod.

“But I’m still so, so excited to finally get to live with you again! How long until I can move back in?”

“Two months,” Juno responded immediately.

“Oh boy!” BJ was practically shaking with joy. “I can’t wait! Thank you, mom!”

“I’m happy to have you back. I’m sorry it took so long for me to come and get you, I just wanted to make sure I was ready when I did,” Juno said.

“Don’t worry, mom, I understand. Everything’ll be okay now. We don’t have to be alone anymore.” BJ ducked under the table and resurfaced with an immense chunk of crystal. “Delia said I could bring this to show you-“

Juno drainer the last of her coffee and stood up. “It’s been nice, son. I’ll see you in a week.”

She shuffled off out the door and BJ was left in the cafe, crystal in hand: alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	18. Literally nothing happens, this is a major filler chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This feels weirdly worded and didn’t go where I planned it would, but eh: does the job.

It was raining when the Maitlands dropped BJ back at home. He wheeled his suitcase behind him, dragging it through the mud and bumping it up the stairs. A feeling of general weariness has settled over him. He just wanted to go to bed.

Everyone was in the kitchen, chatting as Charles stood over the stove. When BJ stepped into the room they fell silent. Just how things used to be. He reminded himself not to kick the table leg.

Lydia gave him a glare.

“Oh, BJ!” Delia jumped up to hug him. He returned it with far more gusto than he’d intended to. “How was it? Did you have a good time?”

“Huh, doubt it,” Lydia scoffed.

“Lydia, come help me with the stew.” Charles held the spoon out to Lydia.

“No.”

“Lydia,” he said more sternly.

She begrudgingly took the spoon.

Delia ushered BJ into a chair, taking his suitcase from him. “Oh, it’s all muddy. You didn’t caught in the rain, did you?”

“No-“

“Have you eaten? Are you hungry? You still haven’t told me how it went-“

“God Delia, you never listen to me!” BJ snapped.

She stopped smoothing down his hair and slowly retracted her hand. “O-oh-“

“No, no, I’m sorry!” BJ quickly corrected. “I, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I just feel all weird.”

Delia sat down beside him. “That’s perfectly understandable. It’s been a big day for you.”

“I had a really good time though,” BJ said, twisting his mouth into a smile. “My mum said she’s really looking forward to living with me again. And she looked at,” he mumbled the next part, “some of the stuff I brought.”

“Well, that’s nice. Isn’t that nice, Charles?”

“Yes.”

“No,” Lydia mumbled.

“Why don’t you tell us everything over lunch?” Delia offered, sliding a glass of organe juice towards BJ.

“Actually,” he rubbed his stomach gingerly, “I don’t feel like eating. Can I please go to bed?”

“Are you sick? I’ll take you upstairs.”

BJ tried to protest that he wasn’t sick, but Delia walked him upstairs anyway. As they left he heard Charles and Lydia break out into an argument.

“Dad, you can’t let him see that woman again, something’s clearly wrong!”

“This is none of your business, Lydia-“

By the time BJ had changed into his pyjamas and got into bed it was the late hour of two pm. He curled up in a ball, clutching the Little Monster to his chest, and tried to figure out why he felt so disgustingly empty inside.

Delia perched on the edge of his mattress and placed a hand on his forehead. “You don’t feel sick,” she mused. “Do you have a headache?”

“No. You know when you get so anxious that you feel like you’re going to throw up?”

Delia nodded.

“I feel like that.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Delia rubbed his shoulder. “Do you want me to get you anything?”

“No, I just want to lie here.”

Delia started to leave, then turned and sat down again. “Is there anything you want to tell me? About today?”

“Will I still see you?” BJ blurted out, sitting up.

“Huh?”

“When I go live with my mom: will I still get to see you? All of you?” BJ had been arguing with Lydia for just three days now and it was already torture. He couldn’t go the rest of his life without seeing her.

“Don’t you worry about that at all.” She pulled BJ against her chest, breathing softly into his hair. “Of course you’ll still get to see us. You can come here whenever you want.” She sat back; stroked BJ’s cheek. “You’re my son, BJ. It doesn’t matter if you go to live with your real mom: you’ll always be my son.”

“Thanks.” BJ felt marginally less nauseous. “You’re the third nicest person I’ve ever met, Delia.”

“Maitlands?”

“Maitlands,” he nodded.

“Alright.” Delia rose again, this time actually making it to the door. “I’ll make sure there’s food in the microwave for you when you come down.”

BJ smiled sleepily, pressing his face into the pillow. “Thanks mo-“ He stopped. “Just get the fuck out of my room and let me go to sleep!”

With a worried sigh, Delia did just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the pointless filler chapter, guys. Thanks for reading!


	19. Delia takes BJ to hospital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got this chapter back in he right place!

“I can’t believe it took this long to get a doctor’s appointment.” BJ sat down on a hard-plastic chair and pulled out an antique gameboy. “I could’ve died.”

“That’s not something to joke about, sweetie,” Delia said, seating herself awkwardly beside him. “Thousands of people die because of the poor American healthcare system.”

“Oh.” BJ paused the gameboy. “That kinda sucks. Is that why you use all that alternate medicine stuff?”

“Partly, yes. Everything’s so much quicker if you can cut out the middle man. But this sounds serious, I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you because I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“I’d come back and haunt you then, if I died.” BJ sunk into his seat and resumed his game.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less of you,” Delia smiled.

After over an hour of waiting they were finally called into a cramped GP’s office. A bored, overworked man lounged behind the desk. There was a skeleton in the corner that BJ ogled.

“I want one in my room,” he whispered.

“Mm, we’ll see.”

Delia made BJ sit down and focus on the doctor’s face.

He clicked around on the computer for a moment, then gave the pair something that in no way resembled a smile. “Laurence Deetz, is it?”

BJ raised an eyebrow at Delia. “Deetz?”

“It was the easiest way to add you to the family healthcare plan,” Delia said.

He shrugged. “Cool. I’d rather be called BJ.”

“Unfortunately,” the doctor tapped the computer with a pen in an irritating manner, “I gotta go with what’s on the screen; it’s official, you know?”

BJ squirmed in his seat a little, but relented. Delia patted him on the shoulder and offered a reassuring smile.

“So, what seems to be the problem, Laurence?”

“My lungs don’t work,” BJ said with a grin.

There was a pause. “Care to elaborate?”

“Nope!”

“BJ,” Delia nudged him, “You have to tell the doctor what you told me, or else he can’t help.”

“Fine,” BJ grumbled. “Fine. When I do, like, physical stuff usually, but sometimes when I’m just minding my own business, I get this really tight, squeezing sensation in my chest. It feels like, like my lungs are closing. It’s like my asthma, but worse. I get really light headed and really short of breath and I have this awful stabbing pain in my chest. It feels like... you know when you watch someone die of lethal injection, and their chest caves in and it’s all gross?”

BJ received two horrified looks.

“Well, it feels like how you’d imagine that would.” Be folded his arms and tried to kick his feet up on the desk, but Delia stopped him. “So doc, am I dying?”

“Actually, good news,” the doctor said. Delia frowned a little; he hadn’t even made any notes. “This is a very common problem with an easy solution.”

“Do you not want to take any x-rays?” Delia interrupted. “Or listen to his chest?”

The doctor waved her off. “No, no, it’s fine. We get this with lazy, overweight teenage boys all the time.”

BJ looked indignantly over at Delia and she could feel the pain in his eyes.

“All he needs is to do more exercise and try to eat a healthier diet. Trust me, if you stick with that I won’t be seeing you in here again.”

BJ jerked forward, hands clenched in a throttling position, but Delia held him back.

“Excuse me, but I don’t think you understand what my son is saying. He has this problem because he’s exercising. Like he said, it’s like asthma but worse. BJ plays baseball three times a week, he runs cross country for the heck of it, and God knows he’s always mucking around in the yard. He’s not out of breath from being unfit; this is serious.”

“Ms Deetz-“ The doctor gave his first real smile. Delia wanted to punch his teeth out, “Just because your son tells you he does all these things doesn’t mean he follows through with them. You don’t know the lengths a teenager will go to to get out of doing things they don’t like. Trust me.”

“No,” Delia said plainly.

“No?”

“No, I don’t trust you. I trust my son. I watch him play baseball with my own two eyes. I wash his gym kit when he comes home covered in mud from cross country. I fill in the holes he digs in the yard, and if that’s hard work it must have been a killer to dig them out in the first place.

“People might waltz in here with their lazy, lying little brats, and you might be able to get away with giving them your shitty advice, but we didn’t raise a liar.”

Technically true, since they hadn’t raised him at all. But BJ didn’t lie; he conned. That was lying for clever people, and Delia couldn’t have been prouder.

“BJ is a healthy, active, honest kid. I want you to take him seriously.”

“Look Ms Deetz, I’m not going to waste my time running routine checks when it’s obvious what’s wrong with Laurence-“

“Would you waste your time if he was thin?” Delia was a steam roller, crushing this feeble excuse for a man beneath her wheel. BJ, her son, her brilliant child, the kid who was about to be horrendously torn from her life, beamed at her with pride and adoration. If she could just make this one thing right then maybe... maybe...

“So you are admitting that Laurence is overweight?”

“Look at him.” Delia squished BJ’s cheeks and he laughed. “Of course he’s overweight - sorry sweetie.”

“It’s alright; I get it from my dad. And also Judaism!” BJ pulled a red yarmulke from his pocket and held it aloft for the doctor to see. “I have this!”

“But,” Delia continued, “He isn’t unhealthy. He plays sport, and eats home cooked food, and takes wholemeal sandwiches and salad to school.”

“I eat a lot of chocolate, though.”

“He does, but he’s so adorable! I can’t not give it to him!”

“I’m adorable!”

Delia shook her head. “But that’s not the point! The point is that you’re assuming something you don’t know about my child, and he could end up seriously ill because of it.”

The doctor ran his hands over his face. “I’ve given you my diagnosis. Take it or leave it.”

“Leave it. Come on, BJ.” Delia grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the office, she then turned sharply and knocked on the next clinic door.

“Hey!” The doctor ran out after them. “You can’t do that!”

“No, but I absolutely will.” Delia moved along a door. “I’m not waiting another five months for my son to get an appointment.”

Someone behind this door called, “Come in!” so Delia did, flustered doctor and beaming BJ - he liked the chaos - in tow.

“Hell- Oh? You’re not Mr Cameron Johnson,” she said, looking the pair up and down.

Delia shoved BJ forward. “This is Cameron.”

“Cameron is an eighty six year old man.”

“Ok, I lied, this is Laurence Deetz.” She nodded towards the computer. “Look him up in your system then listen to what he has to say, because this man won’t.”

“That isn’t-“

“Shut up!” Delia snapped. “I’ll sue you for emotional distress.”

“Your son seems perfectly happy to me,” the doctor said.

“BJ, cry,” Delia commanded.

BJ burst into tears, clinging to Delia like a koala.

“Mo-o-om,” he sobbed. “I want to go home. This doctor’s being so mean to me.”

Delia stroked his hair, smiling vindictively.

“Just, just-“ The doctor threw his hands up in frustration. “Just take them!” He addressed the other GP. “I’ll take Mr Johnson, just don’t make me talk to this crazy family again.”

He closed the door and BJ turned off the waterworks, but gave Delia a proper hug before letting go.

The now incredibly startled GP straightened her papers, then asked, “So, uh, what seems to be the problem?”

“My lungs don’t work!”

“That sounds horrible.” She made a note on the computer. “BJ, isn’t it? Why don’t you hop up on this bed and tell me a bit more about that while I get a stethoscope.”

BJ smiled at Delia.

She smiled back. Nothing felt better than winning a victory for her kid.

-

Delia walked BJ out of the clinic, holding a prescription for a stronger inhaler and roflumilast in hand.

“I hope the new inhaler tastes like vanilla,” BJ said.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t think it will.”

“Oh, I know it won’t. I’m just hoping.”

They walked a few more steps. “Hey, uh, thanks for doing this for me. If I’d gone alone I totally would’ve just listened to that first doctor.”

“It’s alright, it’s a pleasure. Woman have to learn that we’ll always know our bodies better than doctors do. You should remember that, too.

“And remember this. I will always have your ba-“

“Mom!” BJ sped off across the car park and threw himself at Juno, who was just getting off the bus. She pried him gingerly from her shirt.

“Hello Laurence. Wave to the ginger lady so she knows I’ve picked you up.”

“I’m two steps away from you,” Delia frowned. “I can see you have BJ.” She turned to him. “Don’t you want to come get this prescription before you two go off?”

BJ looked between Delia and his mom. “Uuh...”

“You don’t need those drugs,” Juno choked. “The only good drugs are grown in the earth.”

“Like alternative medicines!” Delia offered optimistically.

“Sure. You can get your government issued mind control tablets later; come on.”

“I’ll get them for you, BJ. You to,” Delia said. She kissed his cheek. “Be good, okay? I’ll pick you up at six.”

“Don’t be late,” Juno grumbled as they walked away.

Delia couldn’t help but watch and listen as they walked away.

“Actually, mom, I’m getting a new inhaler! I hope it tastes like vanilla!”

“You still complaining about that lung thing? I’ve already told you, you’re just fat.” She lit a cigarette and BJ ducked under the smoke cloud.

Delia wished she would do something worse.

It was a horrible, awful, despicable thing, to wish that Juno would hurt BJ in any way, but if she did then Delia could take him back. She could protect him from the snide comments, and the asthma-inducing smoke, and the cold, distant hugs. Juno was a horrible parent, but she was no longer horrible enough to have her son taken away from her.

Delia felt like a horrible parent for wishing that she was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I love writing about Delia and BJ because that’s just how I want to be with my future kiddos. I’ve wanted to adopt kids since I was, like, 8 years old. I still don’t think I’m legally old enough to adopt non-siblings. But I cannot wait!!!


	20. BJ’s sleeps over at his mom’s house

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ik, overnight’s aren’t usually allowed, but artistic license, yo.

“You didn’t have to drive me. I could’ve taken the bus.”

“I want to drive you,” Charles said. He was paying far more attention to their surroundings than the road. “Want to make sure you’re safe.”

BJ looked down at his sneakers. He’d never owned sneakers before, only second hand dress shoes, but Delia had thought they looked like his wallpaper and bought them. “You don’t believe all that stuff Lydia thinks about my mom, right?”

Charles grumbled something to his steering wheel, then said, “I’m not going to lie to you. I do not trust this woman’s sudden reappearance in your life. But I want you to be happy, and she seems to make you really happy.

“But I also want you to be safe. I just want to know where you’ll be tonight.”

“I’ll be fine. I have a knife.”

“Wha-“ Charles let go of the steering wheel, letting the car swerve towards the pavement.

BJ pulled a butter knife from his bag. “This!”

“Oh, thank God.” Charles straightened the car up again. “Just remember that you can call me any time and I’ll come pick you up.”

“I’ll be fine.” BJ rolled his eyes. “She’s my real mom, what could go wrong?”

Charles’ raised eyebrow said it all, but he kept his mouth shut.

They pulled over in a crowded street filled with apartment blocks. BJ hopped merrily out the car and climbed the iron steps to the second floor of his mom’s block. Charles ambled along behind him.

It took five minutes of hammering on the door before BJ’s mom answered it. He hugged her before she could even say hello.

“I’m-“ He paused to cough lightly into his hand. “I’m so excited to be staying the night!”

“Yes,” Juno said. “Is this your chauffeur?”

“No!” BJ grabbed Charles and pulled him closer to the door. “This is Charles! He let me take a soda with me!”

Juno squinted at them. “That’s a weird thing to say.”

Before Charles could internet BJ laughed, “Oh, I know! Ha... ha.”

“So,” Charles clamped a hand on BJ’s shoulder, “I’ll pick you up after school tomorrow.”

“Any chance Lydia can go in a separate car? We’re still fighting.”

“No. You know Delia can’t drive. And I don’t want to encourage things to worsen between you two. You need to make up.”

“We’ll make up in hell!” BJ screeched dramatically. Then, in a soft voice, “Thank you for driving me, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow, BJ. I love you.” Charles gave him a chaste dad-hug.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” BJ smirked and stared at the floor, “Love you.”

Juno shut the door before Charles had even made it down the steps. “You wanna smoke?”

“No mom, I-“ He coughed again. The apartment seemed much smokier with the door shut. His chest felt tight each time he took a deep breath. “I can’t. Makes me stop breathing.”

“Alright.” She lit a cigarette for herself, and at least had the decency to blow the smoke away from BJ.

The apartment was much tidier than BJ ever recalled it being. There were no smashed bottles on the floor, or unattended men’s clothes, or cigarette butts. He’d never realised how ugly the carpet was before.

“Hey mom, is my old room still here?” BJ asked.

“Where would it have gone?” Juno sat down in front of the TV.

“Cool! Can I go see?” BJ bounced up and down on his toes.

“Whatever. Stop bouncing around so much, or downstairs will complain about the noise.”

He held still. “Oh. Sure.” Careful not to tread too heavily, BJ crossed the living room to where his bedroom had been. As a child it had been a mess of broken toys BJ was sure his mom had stolen, and locked boxes he was certain his mom had stolen, because she always hid them in his room when the police came round.

But despite that it had been his room, filled with his broken toys, and glowing ceiling stars, and secret panel in the floorboards. It had been a pale lemon colour, with half of one wall painted green: all BJ could manage before he’d collapsed due to paint fumes. His only good childhood memories were located in this room.

He opened the door.

“Oh.”

“Oh what? Don’t you like it? Don’t be a spoilt brat,” Juno called over the sounds of Family Guy.

“No, no, it’s nice,” BJ said hurriedly.

It was just blue. Navy blue. BJ didn’t really like blue.

The ceiling was white and starless.

The bookshelf was filled with DVDs, none of which BJ even recognised. All pirated. Who still pirated on discs?

His secret panel had been covered with cheap carpet. BJ and carpet didn’t bode well. He’d spilt so much soda on the floor Delia had bought him his own mop.

It was a nice room. It was a perfectly acceptable room, and BJ would never complain about it. But it wasn’t a very BJ-friendly room.

“I really like the...” BJ looked round in desperation for a distinguishing feature. “Lack of mirrors?”

What was he talking about? BJ loved mirrors. That’s where he did his makeup, styled his hair, took pictures of him and Lydia in the costumes they made. How could he live without a mirror?

“That’s a real man’s room,” Juno responded. “None of that sissy shit you liked as a kid. Give it a couple of weeks and that sham hair style will grow out, too.”

“Oh, no-“ BJ tossed his backpack onto the bed. It sank three inches into the mattress. “Nothing went wrong; I meant for it to be green.”

He stood beside his mom’s armchair and looked around. There was nowhere else to sit. He sat on the floor.

“Laurence, I just don’t get you,” Juno sighed. There was genuine wonder and longing in her eyes. It must be every parent’s wish, BJ supposed, to have a child they could connect with. He hadn’t meant to be a disappointment, he just wasn’t interested in cigarettes, alcohol, and casual offensive humour.

“I’m sorry, mom.”

“Don’t worry about it, not your fault. All that drinking I did while I was pregnant made you come out weird.”

“Delia says that’s a good thing. She says I’d make a good stand-up comedian,” BJ beamed.

“Alcohol would make you a good stand up comedian.”

“No, I meant that-“

“Shh,” Juno interrupted him. “Just watch the TV.”

“But I don’t like family guy,” BJ said. “I like horror films. And comedy.”

“Did I ask?” Juno didn’t so much snap and ramble with an edge. “And this is a comedy.”

“But it isn’t funny.” 

Juno ignored him.

BJ tried again. “It isn’t fun-“

“Shh. Just watch the TV.”

He watched the TV. And watched. And watched. And watched. He watched until his head ached and his eyes hurt and he felt like he hadn’t eaten in days. Each time he started coughing his mom sent him into the other room, so she wouldn’t miss any punchlines. Each time he started bouncing his leg, or running his nail along the pattern on her chair, she told him to keep quiet.

Finally, a knock on the door forced Juno to mute the TV. BJ thought the voice in his head would sound like Seth McFarland for at least a week.

“Mom,” BJ called as Juno shuffled to the door, “Can we eat now? I’m starving.”

“Food in the fridge,” she grumbled.

BJ jumped up and padded across the living room. The meagre exercise made his chest ache, and he coughed heavily into the crook of his elbow before opening the fridge.

Hot dogs.

Plastic wrapped, already in a bun, microwave hotdogs. Thirty of them.

“Uh, I don’t eat pork,” BJ said.

Juno leaned back from behind the door. “Can’t you see I’m talking to someone? It’s hotdog or nothing.”

“But I don’t eat pork,” BJ stressed. “And I’m hungry.”

Juno closed the door, but the person she’d been talking to wasn’t on the other side of it; he was in the apartment. BJ pressed his back against the fridge and eyed the nearest exit.

“Laurence, you either go to bed with a hotdog or go to bed without a hotdog,” she explained in a bored manner. “This is my son.”

BJ edged towards the stranger. He didn’t like sharing households with intimidating men who hadn’t been approved by the foster system, but he did like it when Juno called him ‘son.’

“Hi.”

“You look gay,” the man said.

“I, uh-“ BJ didn’t know how to respond. “I’m not?”

“Good for you. Don’t be gay.”

“O-okay. I think I’ll go to bed. Goodnight, mom.” He moves in to hug her but she held him at arms length.

“Did I say hug then bed?”

“No,” BJ sighed. He dragged himself to his room and shut the door. The sounds of Family Guy turned up to the highest possible volume resumed.

BJ had to get into bed with his clothes on top of his pyjamas. He was permanently cold as death, but Lydia had shown him where they kept the spare blankets, and helped him heap them onto his bed. Charles also let him keep the heating on in his room, even if it was turned off in the rest of the house. Now BJ’s room didn’t even have a radiator.

Aside from the noise and the shivering BJ’s room was still far from homely. The mattress was so old and worn it felt like it was eating him. He couldn’t relax with a stranger in the house. And every time he tried to lie down his lungs clenched and he was forced to sit and cough his guts up.

So he just sat in the dark, knees drawn to his chest for warmth, butter knife clutched in his hand.

Some time after midnight the blissful sound of silence fell over the apartment. BJ’s head lolled back against the wall. Maybe he could finally get some sleep. Uncomfortable sleep, the kind you’d snatch on public transport, but sleep all the same.

But then BJ heard something worse than Family Guy. Something so awful and invasive he’d blocked the sound from his memory up until this moment. Something so horrible he stopped using his pillow as a headrest and clamped it over his ears, leaning his head against the cold wall.

Charles and Delia had sex. Charles and Delia had a lot of sex. But they had the kind of sex that BJ could tune out with headphones and a half-decent musical soundtrack played on low.

BJ did not have headphones with him.

BJ also no longer had a will to live.

The sun rose without him getting a moment’s sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I’m really looking forward to writing some horrendous angst, and I want to do it tonight, but I also REALLY want to watch Final Space, so we’ll see :)
> 
> EDIT: well shit! Final Space decided to skip a week! Guess I’ll get started!


	21. Things are Shitty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another kind of filler chapter, but two in one day? Not bad!

A jolt in the mattress woke Charles.

He sat up, peering around blearily in the darkness and preparing himself for the fact that he might have to kill someone. No, it was fine, just BJ. BJ looking incredibly pale, and sweaty, and breathing like he’d just run a marathon.

“BJ,” Charles whispered. “What are you doing in our room? Are you okay?”

“I’m just,” BJ wheezed, “Trying to get Delia-“ He broke down into one of the violent coughing fits he’d been having all day, “To, to make me a hot-“ He took some shaky breaths and coughed some more, “D-d-drink.”

Charles stood up. “I can get that for you, Delia has ear plugs in.”

“O-oh.” BJ started coughing again and reached for a bed post for support, but completely missed it and began to crumple to the floor.

Panicked, Charles caught him and scooped him up. 

“BJ.” He shook his limp body. BJ’s head lolled listlessly. His chest heaved up and down.

Charles shook him slightly. “Son, are you conscious?”

BJ’s eyelids fluttered as he continued to gasp like a fish out of water.

Clutching BJ to his chest bridal-style, Charles used his knee to wake Delia. Disgruntled and sleepy, she removed her ear plugs with a frown, until she caught sight of Charles.

“Wha-“

“We’re going to hospital,” Charles said. “Now. Get Lydia, get BJ’s inhaler, meet me at the car.”

She gave a firm nod and took off, stopping only to grab a robe.

Charles carried BJ downstairs, seemingly stoic and calm. Inside panic-mode had set in. He didn’t know what was wrong with BJ. He didn’t know if he was dying, or if he’d recover in a few minutes. He didn’t know if he should try to make him more alert, or just let him loll around unconsciously. He thought he should maybe try to sit him up, but didn’t want to do that until they got in the car.

He grabbed the keys and struggled with the door, trying not to jostle BJ around too much. Someone snatched them off him and threw it open.

“Dad,” Lydia stressed as she ran past, unlocking the car. “Hurry up!”

She opened the back door as Delia locked up the house, and Charles got in, still holding BJ. 

“Wait-“ Delia slid into the passenger seat. “Who’s going to-“

“I’ll drive,” Lydia said, throwing herself into the driver’s seat and starting the engine.

“Lydia, you’re only fifteen,” Charles argued, but it was feebly. “And I’ve only taken you driving once. And you hated it. You said, exactly: gay people don’t like driving.”

“I didn’t-“ Lydia slammed down on the ignition and they jolted down the drive, “Say I was going to like it.”

Delia turned round in her seat. “Charles, you’re doing it wrong. He’s going to choke.”

“Then tell me what to do?” Charles cried desperately. BJ’s cheeks were bright red, and Charles couldn’t tell if it was the light or if his lips were starting to turn blue.

“Lie him down on his side; put his feet on your lap; stretch his right arm out; wrap his left one around his chest; tip his chin back.”

Charles complied as best he could, struggling to manoeuvre a full grown teen in the back of an old fashioned convertible. Why had Delia got a say in their car? Delia couldn’t even drive!

“What if he stops breathing?” Charles asked.

“Do CPR. Do you know CPR?”

They all braced as Lydia took a corner far faster than anyone who’d taken driver’s ed would dare to.

“Kind of?”

“Kind of isn’t good enough! Thirty chest compressions; blow into the lungs twice.”

“Uuh, uuh-“ Charles looked down at BJ. He looked so small and fragile. He resisted the urge to pick him up and hold him again. “How do I know when he stops breathing?”

“He sounds like a faulty steam engine, you’ll know, Charles!”

They didn’t talk for the rest of the journey. Lydia swung the car into the closest parking space to the door and Charles grabbed BJ and headed for the ER.

Lydia shoved people out the way in the reception area. “If my brother dies he’ll come back and haunt you!” She yelled.

“Hello, yes, uh-“ Charles offered BJ to the receptionist, “My son’s having some kind of severe asthma attack, you have to take him to the ER right now.”

She pointed them down a corridor and made a call. A nurse with a bed met them part of the way down.

Charles laid BJ down with only some hesitation. “That’s my son,” he said. “Take care of him.”

“Of course, sir, that’s what we do here.”

They stood blocking the corridor, watching as BJ was wheeled away. Lydia grabbed her dad’s hand. “We’re not going home, are we?”

“Of course not, we’re going to stay here until we’re allowed to see him,” Charles said.

“Good. I want to say sorry for being so mean. Even though I was right.”

They walked back to the waiting room, which was crowded and depressing. Charles was grateful Emily had been at home when she’d passed. He couldn’t wait to bring BJ home again and make him hot drinks and brownies and just generally spoil him.

“Charles,” Delia whispered softly once they’d sat down, “You know they might still try to give him to that horrible woman.”

“I know,” Charles growled, clenching his fist. “But we’ll just have to deal with that when the time comes. For now all I ask is that he doesn’t asphyxiate.”

“He’s not going to die, right dad?” Lydia asked, looking, makeup-less and in her pyjamas, oh-so-much like the scared thirteen year old girl who’d lost her mother.

“No, he’s going to be fine,” Charles said. There had been a time when he’d said that about Emily. “Mostly due to your reckless driving. Thank you for that.”

“I still stand by what I said: as long as I like girls, driving isn’t for me. And I will always like girls.”

“That’s fine, you can always cycle everywhere.”

Lydia leaned her head against her dad’s shoulder. “I will. I’m going to sleep now.”

Charles wrapper an arm around her to make her more comfortable. On his other side Delia, dressed in a nightgown, was leant against him, reading a magazine about motorcycles.

He smiled down at her, but it was bittersweet. He hated how it always took a travesty to really bring a family together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I don’t want to go too hardcore on the angst, because at a certain point it’s just exploiting the horrors of the foster system for a fanfic, so once this bit’s resolved I’m gonna time skip another month or so. I was going to try to resolve things more quickly than I initially planned, but then I realised you still don’t know why Juno wanted her kiddo back, and that the Maitlands kind of look like shitty case workers right now, so you get a better narrative if I just skip a couple of boring things.


	22. The Maitlands are gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s been a while, and sorry this is still filler, but I promise I have a proper plan after this chapter!
> 
> Also, I tried to give a character in this chapter a canon name, and I know that in musical we love and adore her, but canonically they’re kind of ‘out to get’ BJ, so I thought it was appropriate.

Delia was woken by Charles in the early hours of the morning, still in the waiting room and leaning against his shoulder. She looked around for a moment - saw Lydia sleepily rubbing her eyes - then caught sight of the nurse.

“My son-“ she started, scrambling to her feet.

“Is fine, Mrs Deetz,” the nurse said in a calming voice. “He’s on a respirator, and a bag of fluid, but you should be able to take him home tonight.”

“Oh, thank God.” Delia sank back into her seat. “Thank God.”

Seconds later she was back up, following the nurse to BJ’s room. It was crowded with other beds, all of them filled with grown men. Delia decided she wasn’t going to leave BJ alone here.

“What’s all this?” She asked, gesturing around. “My son’s only seventeen, why isn’t he in paediatrics?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the nurse said. She was starting to get flustered; this clearly wasn’t in her jurisdiction. “We didn’t know how old he was when you brought him in, and with the stubble...”

Delia abandoned the conversation as she reached BJ’s bedside. She grabbed his hand - freezing cold - and caressed his face. How could they mistake him for an adult? He looked like a tiny, little child. It took everything she had not to climb onto the bed beside him and hold him to her chest, like a lioness protecting her cub.

Lydia sat down at the other side of the bed, staring intently at BJ. Delia imagined she would wait like that until he woke up.

At the end of the bed, Charles continued Delia’s argument with the nurse. “You could’ve come to ask us his age. You could’ve looked up his medical record. He’s barely over five foot; what exactly made you think he’s an adult?”

The nurse’s forehead glistened with sweat. She looked anywhere but at Charles. “Uuh, uuh, I’ll just have to-“ She left.

Charles joined Delia and Lydia beside the bed.

“So we just have to, uh, wait until he wakes up?” He asked.

“Well, I guess we could go home...” Delia trailed off. She knew none of them were budging.

They settled in for another several long hours. Lydia describes in excruciating detail her and BJ’s haunted moon play. Charles and Delia were very impressed. They told wonderful stories about Emily, which Delia returned with melancholy, but entertaining, stories about her ex-husband.

They each knew what they really wanted to talk about, but couldn’t. It would only make them angry, frustrated, and deeply, existentially sad.

“Excuse me?”

The Deetzes looked up to see a suited dressed man stood at the end of the bed.

“We didn’t ask for a lawyer,” Lydia rolled her eyes.

“Ha ha, aren’t you funny?” He said without any humour. “No, I’m Laurence’s new case worker.”

“What?” Lydia was on her feet and glaring him down before her parents even got the chance to speak. “Where are the Maitlands? They never would’ve let this happen! They love BJ!”

“I’m afraid that was the problem.” The man smiled and Lydia shrunk back. Delia did, too, when she realised what Lydia had noticed: the man had two rows of teeth. “The purpose of our job is to reunite as many families as possible. The Maitlands made it clear that they didn’t support that idea, especially when it came to this particular family, so this little monster was reassigned to me.”

“Look mister-“ Two rows of teeth didn’t frighten Charles. Nothing, in fact, frightened Charles when it came to his children. “You can’t tell me after what’s just happened that the safest option for this young man is to return to living with the vile woman. I mean, she isn’t even here!”

“Isn’t she?

The stranger beckoned, and suddenly Juno was at BJ’s bedside, fussing and cooing like a mother should have. The man noted something down on a form, snapped a photo, then said, “That’ll do.”

Juno returned to his side.

“I’ll be in touch. But just in case you need me, here’s my card.” He handed a black rectangle to Lydia, then swept from the room.

Juno stood for a moment, seeming as if she was about to experience an actual emotion, but before that could happen she too walked away.

Lydia glanced down at the card in her hand. “This can’t be happening.” She handed it to Delia. “This is so unfair! This cannot be happening!”

Delia read the card aloud. “Mr Sandy. And then a phone number. That’s all.”

She stared at BJ’s prone body. They’d been separated for a single night, and already it felt like an integral part of her life had been ripped away from her. She couldn’t let this man give her son back to a woman who didn’t even want him. Didn’t he understand how badly she wanted him? Didn’t anyone want what was best for BJ?

They could love him all they wanted, but love would never protect him from the pain Juno could inflict.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> There about 5 chapters until I can pretty much tie up the narrative, then about 10 chapters to the end if the fic. I still want to update regularly, I love writing this fic, but in the past 48 hours I’ve moved to a new country, applied for 7 jobs, and started work on my assistant director job. And classes haven’t even started yet! So just a warning, updates might take a bit longer from now on!


	23. Idk, BJ goes back to the Deetzes’ house???

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is unbelievably short for how long it took me to write it. It is the only (ONLY) chapter in the fic that I never really wanted to write, but had to for Plot Reasons. Which is why it’s kinda short and crappy, but makes a couple of points.

BJ slept in the car on the way home.

He’d eventually woken up in hospital, and the doctor had stated that since he seemed so boisterous and upbeat he was free to return home. In Lydia’s opinion he was nowhere near as boisterous and upbeat as usual.

She had apologised to him the moment he woke up. Not that she needed to apologise, she was absolutely in the right and this incident had only proved it, but she hadn’t been able to bear it anymore. He was going away soon, and she couldn’t stand the thought of it happening without them making up.

As they pulled up at the house LYdia reached to wake him, when something on the porch caught her eye first. Leaving BJ, she raced out of the car.

“How could you let this happen?” She demanded as she ran.

On their porch, looking miserable and sorry for themselves, were the Maitlands. They couldn’t have been there long, they had only finished work an hour ago, yet their faces were so stony they could have been statues.

When they saw Lydia they stood and rushed towards her. “Oh Lydia.” Barbara wrapped her in a hug that she begrudgingly accepted. “Is he okay? Are you all okay?”

“How could you give him up like that?” Lydia questioned, voice flooded with despair. “How could you?”

“Lydia, we didn’t,” Adam said. “Of course we didn’t. They took the case off us. They told us we were too emotionally invested.”

“As if it isn’t our job to get emotionally invested!” Barbara fumed.

“But that isn’t fair!” Lydia cried.

By now Delia had roused BJ and was helping him out of the car. Charles unlocked the door.

“Exactly! That’s exactly what I said!” 

Barbara and Adam followed the Deetzes into the house. BJ regarded them suspiciously, leaning against Delia. He still seemed at a disconnect with reality: woozy and pale.

Adam knelt in front of him; stroked his cheek. BJ stepped forward to lean his head against Adam’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” Adam whispered. “We tried so hard-“

“It’s okay,” BJ interrupted, speaking forcefully, as if getting the words out was a struggle. “I know you didn’t mean to give me up. But it’s for the best-“

“Wha-“ Barbara knelt beside her husband.

“You guys don’t want me to live with my mom. And this new guy does.”

Delia had filled BJ in on the new case worked on the way home, missing out the maliciousness and monster-like teeth. He’d nodded along, but it hadn’t seemed as though anything had really gone in. Clearly it had.

“BJ, you can’t be serious-“ Lydia started, but forced herself to stop. Where had this got them last time? And BJ was tired and sick.

Lydia conceded; there was nothing she could do. Nothing anyone could do.

“You should go to bed,” she eventually finished. “We’ll let the adults talk it out.”

BJ nodded, and with a final hug of Adam and Barbara he followed Lydia upstairs. She turned at the top. Everyone was watching them, heartbreak plastered across their faces. Holding her tears back, she continued to BJ’s room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the moment uni stuff has calmed down, but I start theatre work tomorrow, and hopefully work-work soon, and classes start Monday, so I’m not going to make any promises about updates. But I can say it probably won’t be another week for the next chapter! BJ’s going to have a kind-of birthday party (it’s not his birthday tho) ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Here’s to a better next chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like any version of Adam would call any version of Beej a 'chunky little guy.'
> 
> Anyway, hmu on tumblr @ everyonewholovesmehasdied if you wanna tell me I suck, or that I should be writing something else, because I'm telling you now: I will do it!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
